


The King of Wishful Thinking

by fanoftheknight



Series: A Knight For The Seven Kingdoms [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A little bit of angst, F/M, Fluff, Sword Fighting, Swords, Westerosi Politics, hay and horses, some sexy scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:07:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 26,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22183039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanoftheknight/pseuds/fanoftheknight
Summary: Part 2 of the A Knight For the Seven Kingdoms Series.Daenerys, Jorah and their twins Rhaena and Aeron are living happily in King's Landing. There is peace across the Seven Kingdoms, but one man's lofty notions may be about to unsettle the tenuous alliances across the major houses of Westeros.
Relationships: Gilly/Samwell Tarly, Grey Worm/Missandei, Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: A Knight For The Seven Kingdoms [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596802
Comments: 256
Kudos: 113





	1. Perfect Timing

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse the rather long break between the last chapter of More Than Words and this new story. MTW took a lot out of me both physically and emotionally and I felt a short break away from writing would be good for me.
> 
> Some people expressed an interest in more from the A Knight For The Seven Kingdoms AU and I felt there were some stories still left untold for some of its characters, so I've written a little sequel that I hope you'll all enjoy...
> 
> Special thanks as always goes to SlytherinHowl who has helped keep me sane these past few months and kept me going through the rough waters of the latter chapters of More Than Words. She has also worked tirelessly in helping make this story make some sort of political sense and has challenged my past perfects and some rather lame lines that I wrote for the initial draft of this story. SlytherinHowl makes me a better writer and just by knowing her, hopefully a better person too.
> 
> Updates to this story will not be as frequent as More Than Words and will likely be once a week. I will be working on some other pieces in the meantime and there are a number of exciting projects I'm looking forward to getting my teeth into in 2020 (including a longer story set in the Mr Starf*cks world...)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this new story - the first couple of chapters might be a little slow going but it serves to set the scene for the subsequent chapters.

Daenerys blinked lazily in the early morning light, smiling to herself as her husband slept soundly beside her.

After becoming a father, Jorah had cut back significantly on the many roles he played within the keep and King’s Landing and although he would always remain her Lord Commander and head of her Queensguard, he’d been convinced by Daenerys that Grey Worm was a more than capable substitute for him.

It had also helped that the twins were still in their first year of life when Jorah finally relented and relinquished the day to day running of the Queensguard to Grey Worm, a man whose judgement he trusted implicitly.

Jorah complained that he would have little to do with his days if he were not training the men under his command both day and night. It had taken months of persuasion and several heated arguments before her husband inevitably acquiesced to her demands and took a step back from a role he had become accustomed to over the many years they had shared together.

Although they had argued relentlessly about his duties, their quarrels never lasted for long and made the sex all the more delicious when one of them invariably offered an olive branch of conciliation to the other.

Truth be told, Daenerys rather liked Jorah when he stood his ground with her. It reminded her so much of their first years together when he would tell her in no uncertain terms if he felt she were being foolish.

As she laying watching her husband, smiling at his relaxed features, Daenerys realised with some regret that she had beaten most of the fight out of the man she loved after she banished him in Mereen. He had been meek to the point of submission when he finally returned to her side at Dragonstone after curing his greyscale and finding his way back to her.

It took years of her proving her love for him before Jorah finally began to feel more secure in his place in her life. He had been the one to show her all those years ago that love could make a person strong and it gladdened her heart to know that she rebuilt much of the man she so blindly tore down during their time in Mereen.

One thing that Jorah insisted he would not give up was his tutelage of young Sam Tarly as his squire or his commitment to training the boy’s father in the basics of sword fighting. There were many things they’d haggled back and forth about, but reneging on his commitment to the Tarly family was a line Jorah was unwilling to cross, even for her.

Realising that it was a battle she could never win, Daenerys conceded the point and was secretly glad that Jorah was so resolute in his position over the Tarly’s. She could not deny that the bond between Samwell and Jorah was as strong as that of brothers and the latter had always made a point of looking out for the young maester and his family.

As her eyes danced over the litany of scars that covered Jorah’s body, Daenerys was under no illusions as to how much she owed Samwell Tarly, not only for saving her husband’s life several times, but for the fact that she allowed her righteous fury to commit the most heinous of sins against the poor man’s father and brother.

But that was before Jorah returned to her side and helped calm the roiling fury that built within her since he left to find a cure for his affliction. Over the many months he had been gone, she convinced herself that Jorah would never return and for that she laid the blame squarely on one person - herself.

Had she not banished him, he would never have been infected with the disease that Jorah was convinced would kill him. As the weeks turned into months, she felt the anger and fury building within her.Those feelings found an outlet in the most savage of ways as she burned all those who refused to bend the knee before her.

For every man who refused to bend the knee, it only made her miss Jorah all the more. She’d had the love of a man who was entirely devoted to her and her cause and he was dying of an incurable disease because of her. 

How dare those men stand before her whole and healthy while the man who had sacrificed everything for her died a needless death?

The rage burned within her and spilled forth like the flames from Drogon’s mouth and it was not until Jorah returned that her white hot fury crumbled to smouldering embers and she learned to temper her anger once more.

Realising that she’d lost herself in her thoughts, Daenerys ran her fingertips gently down her husband’s arm and smiled as his eyes slowly opened and fell upon her, bringing them both back to the present.

“Good morning,” she said as he leaned forward to kiss her tenderly on the mouth.

He smiled lazily at her. “Hmmm, it is.” He ran a hand over his face to bring himself fully awake. “How long have you been up?”

“Not long,” she answered him, feigning innocence. “I was just enjoying the early morning view.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her as he looked out of the window and back to her. The sun was only just beginning to appear for the day.

“Were you now?” He said with a crooked grin.

She nodded her head. “It was a quite a sight to behold, Ser.”

Her hand rested on his chest as she ran her fingers through the covering of hair she found there. Becoming more daring, she leaned over and kissed him deeply, making her intentions clear.

“Khaleesi, we cannot,” he said breathlessly as he found his body responding eagerly to her touch. “The children - “

“Are still asleep,” she cut him off before silencing any further protests from him with another languid kiss.

The twins had recently celebrated their third name day and with each year that passed, Aeron and Rhaena looked increasingly like miniature versions of their parents.

Aeron had his father’s searing blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair along with his strong cheekbones and straight nose, while Rhaena looked every inch her mother’s daughter with her almost white hair and purple eyes. Every time she laid eyes on her son, Daenerys could only imagine that Jorah had looked much the same when he was a little boy.

Aeron had struggled to nurse as an infant and had been a sickly child in his first year of life, but had flourished in the subsequent two years and Daenerys had no doubt that he would grow to be as tall and strong as his father.

At three years of age, both Aeron and Rhaena’s personalities were becoming increasingly apparent and although her daughter shared her facial features, she had the mild manner of her father and would watch intently as Aeron threw tantrum after tantrum as he learned to crawl, then walk and talk. She was under little doubt that her son had much of the dragon inside him and if tempered with his father’s wisdom, it would make him a formidable king in the years to come.

The twins were undoubtedly the apple of their father’s eye and while she was secure in the love her children held for her, it was clear that they adored their father as much as they did her. Jorah had doted on them from the day they were born and had never once shirked his responsibilities in the less glamorous aspects of parenthood such as cleaning, feeding and bathing his children.

Daenerys let out a contented sigh as Jorah ran his hands up and down her sides before placing wet kisses along her neck and collarbone. It was still early and the children would be asleep for at least another hour yet, perhaps even more so after their day trip to the bay yesterday. 

It was still summer and the nights were warm and so there was little in the way of clothing between Daenerys and her husband as their hands found their way over the contours of each other’s body. She had lost count of how many times they made love over the years they’d been together, and yet there was always something new about their couplings, with each time feeling like the first all over again.

Although the flesh of her waist became looser after the twins had been born and Jorah sported increasing amounts of grey in his beard and his hair, the two of them were as insatiable for one another as they had always been.

The way he flipped her over and onto her back caught her by surprise and she had to stifle the gasp for fear of waking the twins. Daenerys knew she would have to be quiet if they were to not disturb their children, as it was something they’d become accustomed to in the years since their birth.

Before the arrival of the twins, they had the luxury of choosing when and where they made love and Daenerys would not give a second thought to the sounds she made as her husband worshiped her body with his own. Things had changed after the children were born and at times it was a struggle for them to find the time or opportunity to spend quality time alone reacquainting themselves with each other’s body.

She could feel Jorah’s manhood stiffening against her thigh as he trailed hot kisses over every area of her flesh. Daenerys knew she would never grow tired of the way he touched her and how he made her feel more alive than any other man ever had.

She was accustomed to knowing just what he needed too and she would seek to give him just as much pleasure as he did her. She knew exactly where to kiss him…where to touch him to stoke the flames of his burning passion all the higher.

“Please, Jorah,” she whispered in his ear as she made her intentions clear.

She needed him now. Inside of her.

She grasped his manhood and smiled as he let out a hiss of pleasure. It was clear that his body needed her just as much judging by how hard he already was. Positioning himself above her, he entered her slowly as she let out a contented breath. He moved his hips back and prepared to thrust into her slowly once more when Rhaena’s soft voice called from the doorway.

“Mumma?”

Jorah pulled away immediately at the sound of their daughter’s voice and covered both of them with the thin bedsheet. That Rhaena was still so young as to not realise what her parents had been doing was a relief as Jorah did his best to hide his arousal.

“Is everything ok?” Daenerys asked her daughter softly.

Rhaena shook her head. “Aeron says his tummy hurts.”

Daenerys smiled sweetly at her daughter. “We’ll be there in a minute,” she said, glancing at Jorah and smirking at his pained expression.

Turning onto her side, Daenerys gave her husband a chaste kiss. “I’ll see to Aeron and allow you time to…” she trailed off as she spied the tenting of the bedsheet, shooting him a look somewhere between amusement and pity. “Perhaps we can find time to pick up where we left off later,” she said as she rose from the bed and pulled on her gown, leaving her husband behind and smirking as he let out a pained breath.


	2. Life, Interrupted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to remind you that I used a little artistic license with the Tarly family in A Knight For The Seven Kingdoms. Lana Tarly is the child that Gilly was pregnant with in Season 8 and was approximately 4 years old in AKFTSK and as this story is set approximately 3 years after the story's epilogue, Lana is now approximately 7 years old.
> 
> I also had Gilly be pregnant with a third child during the epilogue of AKFTSK and so that child (Jon) is now about 2 and a half years old in this story.
> 
> I hope that all makes sense!

By the time Daenerys returned to the bedroom she shared with her husband, Jorah had already washed and dressed for the day and she was unable to hide the look of disappointment that they would not be able to continue their amorous liaison.

“Are you feeling better now, Aeron?” Daenerys asked as she placed a bowl of porridge in front of her two children, casting a surreptitious glance at her husband.

Aeron nodded his head as he shovelled food into his mouth with a spoon.

Jorah looked at his son and cautioned him against eating too fast.

“There’s no rush, Aeron,” he told the boy patiently.

“Lana,” Aeron said around a mouthful of food, it was enough to earn a pointed look from his father.

“Will wait for you and your sister to arrive,” Jorah finished for his son.

Although Lana Tarly was a few years older than the twins, both Rhaena and Aeron loved spending time and playing with her. Lana had naturally gravitated toward them now that the younger Samwell Tarly was becoming less of a boy and more of a man with each day that passed. Her younger brother Jon was of a similar age to the twins and the four of them were often inseparable.

Gilly had asked if the twins would like to join their family on a day out away from the hustle and bustle of the keep and both Jorah and Daenerys had readily agreed. As much as they loved their children, they’d had little in the way of private time in the past few months in between raising the twins and Daenerys ruling the Seven Kingdoms.

After gently chiding his two young children into washing their faces, Jorah readied them for their day with the Tarly’s, turning to his wife and kissing her on the cheek.

“I’ll see you at the small council meeting,” he said, picking up a child in each arm and heading for the door.

Any ideas Daenerys might have entertained about finishing what they’d started this morning would have to wait, she realised.

* * *

The council meeting seemed to drag on for hours and Daenerys was finding it increasingly difficult to keep her mind on matters of the realm, especially with her husband sitting next to her.

He was so close that she could smell his natural woody scent and it immediately took her mind back to what they had been doing this morning.

Couldn’t Tyrion and Davos see that she couldn’t care less for taxes and budgets right now?

Glancing back at Jorah and the proud way he sat in his chair made her insides twinge in a delightful way. Casting a look at his hands, she wanted nothing more than for him to run them all over her body, touching her in a way that made her scream with pleasure.

Davos cleared his throat noisily. “Your Grace?”

She felt her cheeks flame as she realised she’d been caught daydreaming. The members of her small council looked at her quizzically, with the exception of Jorah, who kept his gaze on his lap as his own cheeks reddened.

“My apologies, Ser Davos. Please continue,” she said, attempting to focus on the discussion at hand.

Daenerys had enough faith in her advisors that whatever action they chose to take in terms of the proposed changes to the taxation of the cities of Westeros would be the correct one.

It was a relief to dismiss the meeting. Daenerys commanded everyone to leave with the exception of her husband.

He was by her side as soon as the others left, placing a hand on her arm and looking at her with concern. 

“Is everything ok, Khaleesi?” He asked quietly.

Her only answer was to launch herself into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck as she kissed him deeply.

He broke away quickly, earning himself an angry glare from his wife.

“Khaleesi, we cannot.”

It was the same words he said to her in their bedroom earlier and it only served to increase her frustration.

“Do you not desire me, Ser?’ She asked him coldly.

Jorah let out a deep sigh. “Khaleesi, you know how I feel about you.”

“Do I?” she shot back. “Twice you have tried to turn me away today.”

She knew her words were uncalled for, yet she was unable to stop herself.

Jorah pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Daenerys, this neither the time or the place - “

“Daario would not have denied me.”

She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, her heart sinking as she saw the look of hurt on his face.

Reaching out a hand to touch his cheek, Daenerys flinched as Jorah took several steps back.

“Jorah - “ she began, only for him to cut her off.

“I love you, Daenerys. I am devoted to you only and I hope I have never given you cause to doubt that. I love you….yet there are times when I find it hard to like you when you treat me in such a way.”

She cursed her fiery temper for hurting the man she loved yet again. When would she learn to stop treating him so cruelly?

“I did not mean it,” she implored him.

“Yet you said it all the same,” Jorah responded quietly.

How could she make him understand how much she needed him? She had no doubt of his love for her, but she missed the feel of his hands on her body and the way only he could make her feel when they joined as one. Her frustration borne of her desire for him and him only.

She moved toward him and was relieved when he didn’t immediately attempt to put distance between them again.

“Jorah, I beg that you forgive me,” she said as tears filled her eyes. “My frustration is only because I love you so. I have a thirst only you can quench…it’s quite distracting…” She gave him a wry smile as she touched his cheek with her fingertips. “I fear Davos realised I wasn’t listening to him by the end of the meeting.”

He smiled at that. He mirrored her actions by ghosting his fingers across her cheek. “I want you…more than you know.”

“Then show me,” she implored him, leaning in to kiss him once more only breaking away to glance at the door. “I will take the head of anyone who dares enter without knocking.”

He raised an eyebrow before lifting her onto the table and laying her down. He supported himself above her as his mouth began travelling across her face and neck while her hands grasped and pulled at his tunic and the waistband of his trousers, her intent clear.

“Oh, Jorah,” she breathed as his hands moved up and down her body.

He responded by placing a hand on the inside of her thigh, making it obvious what he intended to do. He looked at her, seeking a permission that she gave quickly with a nod of her head as she bit down on her lower lip to stifle her moans of pleasure.

Oh how she had missed his hands all over her body. No one had ever set her on fire the way Jorah did. She wanted him to take her with his fingers, with his mouth, with his…

“Your Grace,” a voice called out and it was enough to stop Jorah in his tracks as he jumped back quickly, repositioning his own clothes as he stood in front of his wife, shielding her from their intruder’s gaze as she did the same with her own clothing.

“Ah, my apologies for interrupting,” Tyrion said with a knowing smile. “I wasn’t aware that the meeting was still in session.” The small man sent a goading smile to the man he considered both friend and adversary.

“What do you want?” Jorah growled, straightening his tunic.

Tyrion grinned mischievously at him. “I realised that I left the papers on the new taxes in here,” he replied as he walked past Jorah, bending down to collect them from the floor. “It’s a good job I came back for them. I dread to think what would have happened should anything have been spilled on them.”

Daenerys shot a hand out to restrain her husband, allowing Tyrion to beat a hasty retreat from the room.

“Permission to kill him, Khaleesi?” Jorah growled.

Daenerys was aware that her husband was only half-joking in his request.

“And where would I find another Hand?” She responded playfully.

“I am sure that Ser Davos would make a fine replacement. He no doubt knows how to knock too.”

The comment earned a smile from Daenerys as she looked at her husband sympathetically.

“Do you get the feeling that the whole keep is against us spending any time together, Ser?”

“Aye, I do,” he said ruefully. “I shall have to kill every last one of them until there is no one left to disturb us,” he retorted. Daenerys had no doubt he would eagerly do so should she ask him to. With each new interruption, that would become an increasingly enticing prospect to her.

Daenerys smiled coyly at her husband as she grabbed the lapels of his tunic and pulled him in. “Now, where were we?”

Daenerys let out a sigh as Jorah kissed her neck, lifting her back on to the table, returning to where they had been several minutes earlier. She could feel Jorah’s own arousal as she ran her hands up and down his sides, leaving her in no doubt as to how much he wanted her.

Jorah began tugging gently at her dress and she responded in kind with her hands traveling to his sword belt, looking to divest it of him as soon as possible. Hands were moving in a haphazard fashion as passion overcame them both.

Until a knock of the door stilled them.

“By the Seven,” Jorah growled, “I’m going to run through whoever that is with my sword.” He leant his damp forehead against his wife’s as he took a number of deep breaths, only moving away to help Daenerys off the table when a second, more insistent knock came from the door.

Straightening her hair and her clothes, Daenerys gave her husband a sympathetic smile. “At least they knocked, I suppose.”

He huffed in response as he adjusted and tightened his sword belt.

“Come in,” Daenerys said.

See Davos stood awkwardly in the doorway. “Apologies for the disturbance, Your Grace.”

Davos looked slightly abashed at having intruded.

“What is it, Ser?” Daenerys asked.

“Lord Gendry Baratheon has arrived and is waiting for you in the Throne room.”

“Of course,” Daenerys smiled. “I will join you there in a few moments.”

Davos nodded his head and backed away. “As it pleases you, Your Grace.” He closed the door quietly behind him.

Walking over to her husband, Daenerys placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

“We will get to finish what we’ve started, I promise you, Ser.”

He nodded his head. “Aye. Sam and I have a training session and maybe once your meeting with Lord Baratheon has finished…”

Jorah didn’t need to say anymore. 

“I will return to our quarters as soon as I can. I expect you to make haste with your session with Sam, too.”

The heated look Jorah gave her told Daenerys all she needed to know. Nothing would stop him from being by her side and laying her down in the soft furs of their bed as soon as their duties allowed.


	3. Cheap Shots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful Miss ToasTea who asked many months ago if I could write a scene in which Jorah and Sam are training. It's taken me a long time to come good on my promise, but I'm expecting you to FedEx your kidney to me in the next few weeks, ToasTea....
> 
> And if you head back to chapter 1, you can see the awesome artwork that the amazingly talented Salzrand has allowed me to add to the beginning of the story!

“Again,” Jorah commanded, picking up Samwell Tarly’s fallen training sword and throwing it back to the nervous young maester.

“I’m sorry,” Sam stuttered, not wishing to raise the ire of the old knight further.

Ser Jorah Mormont was known for being gruff with many who came into contact with him, yet Sam thought the older man saw him as a friend. Ser Jorah had barely said a word to him today other than instructing him during the training session, it was enough to make Sam feel even more nervous than usual.

“Sorry will not save your life,” Jorah responded, his tone curt. “Your enemy will not be sorry when they run you through with a sword.”

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Sam took up his position as the older man lifted his sword ready to begin the duel once more.

Ser Jorah had never held back during their training sessions before, but Sam could sense that there was something bubbling underneath the surface of the other man, meaning his blows were stronger and harder than they normally would have been. The force Jorah was putting into his sword thrusts was enough to push Sam further back across the room until he was up against the wall.

Sam felt the presence of Jorah’s sword against his throat.

“Your enemy has just slit your throat,” the knight said, pulling the young maester from the wall and back into the middle of the training room. “Again.”

Sam had barely lifted his sword before Ser Jorah advanced on him once more, easily knocking the younger man’s sword away and pointing his own at Sam’s belly.

“Dead. Again,” Ser Jorah growled, throwing the sword back to the nervous young man.

With a mixture of shame and fear, Sam shook his head and began walking away from his opponent. “I think I’ve had enough for today, Ser Jorah.”

It earned him a fearsome glare from the knight. “Do you think your enemies will throw down their swords and go home just because you’ve had enough for the day, Sam?”

Sam threw his sword to the floor. “I give up, is that what you want to hear?” He said in frustration and confusion, wondering what he’d done to anger the other man so.

“Your enemies will not yield until they kill every last man,” Jorah taunted him. “And after they have killed the men they will rape and defile the women and children. _Your_ wife and children.”

Sam wasn’t quite sure what came over him, but the thought of Gilly and his beautiful children being raped and murdered brought forth an anger in the young maester that he never knew he possessed. Suddenly, Ser Jorah became the focal point for his ire as Sam punched the other man squarely in the jaw, sending him sprawling to the floor.

* * *

Ser Jorah Mormont woke with a groan, opening his eyes to find himself staring at the ceiling of the training room with Sam looking at him with concern.

“Ser Jorah, are you ok?” The young maester asked, stilling Jorah’s attempts to sit up with a firm hand on his shoulder. “Keep still for a moment.”

Jorah closed his eyes and let out a pained breath, the room seemed to be spinning and his ears rang noisily. “What happened?”

He caught the way Sam blushed before answering. “I…uh….I…punched you, Ser Jorah.”

It was then that Jorah felt the pain in his jaw and the tasted the blood on his lips as Sam gently helped him to sit up. “Your aim is getting better,” he said wryly as he massaged his jaw.

Sam ignored the comment. “Follow my finger with your eyes,” he commanded the knight, checking the older man over for fear that he’d done him serious harm.

Jorah batted the hand away. “I’m fine, Sam.”

Sam shook his head. “I knocked you unconscious. The Queen will have my head if she finds out that I hurt you.”

Jorah let out a gruff laugh and instantly regretting it as the room began to spin. “It was an accident, you caught me off guard, that is all.”

Sam winced at the comment. “Aye, you haven’t seemed quite yourself today.”

The comment earned a glare from the knight. “Meaning?”

Sam felt his stutter return as the blue eyes of Ser Jorah Mormont froze him to the spot.

Jorah continued to stare at him. “If you have something to say, Sam, spit it out.”

Sam reached out a hand, intending to place it on the other man’s forehead and feel for any fever. He felt his hand being quickly batted away.

“Are you quite well, Ser?” Sam asked, undeterred. The stomach fever that gripped the older man almost four years ago had almost put paid to his life. Sam was certain that he never wanted to revisit those dark days when his friend and mentor had hovered between life and death. “You’ve not felt feverish or sick?”

Jorah tried not to wince at Sam’s innocent question. Yes, he’d been feeling feverish all day, but not for the reasons that Sam would assume. Ever since Daenerys had enticed him in their bed this morning, he felt an aching need growing within him to take her in his arms and ravish her until she begged him to stop.

They were interrupted by Rhaena and then by Tyrion and Ser Davos in the small council chambers. Now that Daenerys had stoked the embers of his passion, Jorah was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his mind of anything but having his way with his wife.

Perhaps he’d been harsher on Sam than he intended to be during their session. Samwell Tarly was no fighter, that was for sure, but Jorah had been patient with him and slowly started seeing gradual improvements in the young maester’s technique.

Maybe Sam was having an off day, but Jorah felt his frustration grow as time after time Sam dropped his sword or yielded too early. It would mean extra hours spent in the darkened room until Sam finally got it right and they could finish for the day. With every drop of Sam’s sword, Jorah felt his chance of returning to his quarters to spend precious time alone with his wife dwindling away by the minute.

His ire built steadily and found an easy target in Samwell Tarly and although he could see the younger man was close to yielding completely, Jorah pushed him further still. Should another Long Night ever arrive, giving up and turning tail would not save Sam or his family. Jorah knew he needed to press his point home to maybe raise a little fighting spirit from the young man.

Perhaps in hindsight his words were too harsh, for the last thing Jorah remembered was goading Sam about the fate of his wife and children should he die during a time of war. No man could ever resist their righteous anger when their family had been threatened.

Jorah climbed slightly unsteadily to his feet, realising that he had underestimated Sam’s determination to protect his family. He didn't expect the young maester to throw a punch at him, let alone for his fist to make contact with his jaw.

“I am not sick, Sam,” Jorah reassured his young charge as he brushed hay and dirt from his clothes.

Feeling relieved, Sam let out a small laugh. “Perhaps you’re just getting old?”

The comment earned Sam a glare and then a rueful smile from the older man. “My reflexes are just fine,” he huffed good-naturedly. “Although perhaps I have been a little distracted,” Jorah admitted, rubbing and feeling at his jaw.

Sam looked at his friend with some concern. “Is everything quite alright, Ser Jorah?”

Jorah ignored the question as he began placing their training swords back into their scabbards and leaning them against the wall.

“If there is something amiss, you can always talk to me,” Sam offered. “I may be a useless fighter, but I’m a good listener.”

Jorah couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth for the younger man. They had shared many hardships over the passing years and the two of them only grew closer after the Long Night, when Sam moved heaven and earth to keep him alive against the odds.

He chose Sam as the man to stand with him when he married Daenerys Targaryen and although he perhaps hadn’t said it so much in words, Jorah considered the young man a part of his family.

Maybe Sam would be a willing ear, but Jorah had never been a man to talk about his feelings, preferring to keep them hidden away and festering instead. He was a man and a Northern one at that. Northern men didn’t talk about their feelings to anyone.

“It’s not the children, is it?” Sam asked, concern evident in his voice.

Sam and Gilly were part of a very small group of people that Jorah and Daenerys entrusted the care of their children to. Unlike his own lord father, Jorah made a point of being as hands-on with his children as possible. He would not leave their care to a stranger or a wet-nurse. As well as the children’s maester, Sam had become a favoured uncle as well.

Jorah shook his head. “The children are fine, Sam.”

“Is something amiss with the Queen?” Sam asked, his worry heightened that she was unwell. He knew the effect it would have on Jorah should anything happen to her. “Is she with child?”

Jorah let out a humourless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Chance would be a fine thing.”

Jorah realised all too late that the words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop them.

It took Sam a few moments to connect the dots before he smiled and gave the older man a knowing look. “Ah, I see.”

Jorah pinned him with another glare. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Ser Jorah Mormont was accustomed to using his imposing height and stature to intimidate people, but Sam had been witness to it so many times that it barely registered with him anymore.

“In between ruling the Seven Kingdoms and bringing up two children, it doesn’t leave much time for anything else, I can imagine.”

Ser Jorah arched an eyebrow at him. “I’d rather you didn’t imagine anything at all,” he said as his cheeks flushed red.

Undeterred, Sam continued. “I dare say you’re suffering from a classic case of coitus interruptus.”

“And you’ll suffer from a smack in the face too if you don’t watch your tongue, Sam,” Jorah growled at him.

Sam sat down, smiling at his counterpart. “There are only three things in this world that you truly love: your children, your honour as a knight and Queen Daenerys Targaryen. It makes sense that thoughts of her were distracting you today.”

Jorah sat down heavily next to him, the defeat already evident in his voice. “You know nothing, Samwell Tarly.”

Sam laughed at that. “I know you, Ser Jorah, and I know how much you love the Queen and how devoted you are to her. She’s the only thing that could ever make you lose focus in the middle of a fight.”

Jorah huffed and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “We weren’t actually sparring when you hit me with that cheap shot, if I recall.”

“You’re lucky we didn’t have an audience,” Sam said before taking a long drag of water before passing the rest to Jorah. “You’d never have lived it down - getting knocked on your arse by the worst fighter in Westeros.”

“Aye,” Jorah agreed, “no one would have believed you anyway. I daresay my reputation and I will live to fight another day.”

“I think I may have a remedy for your malady,” Sam said as he smiled at Jorah who looked at him questioningly. “Gilly and I will look after the twins tonight and bring them back to you on the morrow. Perhaps a night alone with the Queen will help you regain your focus.”


	4. Breaking the Wheel

Jorah closed the book he was reading as he heard the door to their chambers opening. His wife stood in the doorway looking tired but relieved.

“I am so sorry, Jorah,” she said as he helped her to remove her cloak. “There were several matters that Tyrion insisted I attend to.”

Jorah had no doubt that Tyrion was meddling and deliberately keeping Daenerys from him in an effort to needle him, especially after they were caught in such a compromising position this morning.

He felt his wife push away slightly as he made to kiss her, “What has happened to you?” She asked, her eyes widening at the sight of his split lip and bruised jaw.

“It is nothing,” he said, trying to reassure her as he took her in his arms.

Daenerys was not to be deterred. “I does not look like nothing, Ser,” she said, her tone slightly chiding. “I will have the head of anyone who dares to think of causing you harm.”

Jorah chuckled before looking slightly embarrassed. “Then we’ll have to find a new Grand Maester if you do.”

It was an answer that Daenerys clearly hadn’t been expecting. “Sam did this to you?” Her look of shock quickly turned to one of amusement. “How on earth did that happen?”

Jorah looked affronted at the remark. “Perhaps my tutelage is finally paying off.” He leaned in and kissed her soundly. “As much as I would like to think it was due to my skills as a teacher, the truth is that he caught me when I wasn’t paying attention.”

Daenerys felt her heart swell with love for her husband as his eyes dropped to the ground and he gave her one of those shy smiles that he reserved only for her.

“Ser Jorah Mormont, I have never known you to be distracted from a task in the entire time that we have known each other,” she teased him, leaning in for another languid kiss from him.

“There is only one person who has the power to entrance and bewitch me,” he said between kisses.

“Is that so?” Daenerys retorted with a smile.

“Aye,” he replied, his hands resting on her hips as he sought to bring her closer. “Just the smell of her being near makes me lose all rational thought.”

Hands began clawing at clothes as they both lost themselves in their passionate embrace. Daenerys sighed as she felt the warm, moist lips of her husband trail down her face and throat. She found herself quickly losing control before a thought pulled her up short.

“The children,” she said, pulling away slightly.

Jorah couldn’t hide his amusement at Daenerys now being the one to put paid to their amorous liaison.

“Are staying with the Tarly’s tonight,” Jorah replied, gently tugging her closer once more.

“Anyone would think you were planning a little seduction here tonight, Ser,” Daenerys commented wryly, feeling her husband’s hands snake under her clothes and ghost along her bare skin. Whatever else she was planning to say was lost in the heat of Jorah setting her nerve endings alight in the way that only he knew how.

* * *

If seduction was what Jorah was planning, it had certainly worked as far as Daenerys was concerned. Perhaps they were making up for lost time and the fact that they would remain undisturbed throughout the night, but she’d lost count of how many ways he made her come undone this evening.

They hadn’t even made it to the bed for the first hour or so and Daenerys was reminded once more that Bear Islanders not only had the strength of ten men, they also had the stamina to match. Just when she thought he was spent, Jorah would take her all over again, bringing her to heights that no other man had ever been able to match.

Sweating but satisfied, Daenerys let out a contented sigh as Jorah lay on his back next to her, a serene smile on his face.

“Well, I think I can safely say that was worth the wait,” Daenerys said, turning on her side to face her husband.

“Aye,” he responded with a lazy grin.

“Perhaps we should allow the twins to have sleepovers more often,” she suggested as she ran a finger up and down his arm.

She heard him laugh. “I am sure the children would enjoy that, I daresay that Aeron and Rhaena get bored of each other’s company quite easily now.”

“Then perhaps we should remedy that.”

Jorah turned to his side to look at her. “Are you sure?” He asked as he cupped her face with one of his large hands.

She suddenly looked uncertain. “Only if it is what you want too, Jorah.”

Daenerys knew all too well how many times Jorah had put her wants and needs above his own. During their years in the Red Waste, through to their time in Mereen, she became lost in the role of playing a monarch, so much so that she had been blind to the damage she caused to the man she loved by ignoring her true feelings and casting him aside.

Since the battle at Winterfell and coming so close to losing him forever, Daenerys ensured that never again would she brush him aside on a whim. Although it took many long months for Jorah to finally believe that her feelings for him were true, Daenerys was determined to ensure that, behind the closed door of their chambers, the two of them were equals as befit their roles of husband and wife.

Jorah answered by kissing her softly on the lips. “Daenerys Targaryen, I would have an army of children with you if that’s what your heart desires,” he said with a smile.

The thought of dozens of mini Jorah’s running around her feet was a pleasant notion and one that Daenerys found herself quickly getting lost in. She sobered instantly when it occurred to her that they had been intimate many times since the birth of the twins and she had yet to fall pregnant again.

“Maybe the gods have only seen fit to bless us with two children. Perhaps it is ungracious for us to want more.”

Jorah reassured her by placing a kiss on her forehead. “Ungracious is a word that could never be used to describe you, Khaleesi. You were born to be a mother and now that the twins are getting older…”

Jorah trailed off, allowing Daenerys to fill in the blanks for he knew all too well the rush of love that one felt when holding their newborn child in their arms for the first time. To have such a tiny life entirely dependent on you brought forth feelings of euphoria and an unquenchable desire to protect that life at all costs. It was a heady mix of excitement and fear and one that a person could easily get addicted to.

Daenerys smiled at him. “I’ve loved you for so long, my sentimental bear, but never have I loved you more than when the children were born. The twins and I are so lucky to have you.” She rolled her eyes when she saw his trademark frown cross his features.

“I am not perfect by any means.”

“None of us are,” she reassured him. “Yet you are the most loving husband and father a family could ask for. Our children are loved and want for nothing in this life.”

“Our children are lucky that they will have a comfortable life,” he replied. “I would want nothing less for them.”

Daenerys could sense there was something else her husband was trying to say.

“And yet?” She prompted.

Jorah readjusted his position in the bed, covering them both with the thin sheet that had been discarded in one of their more passionate embraces during the evening.

“I saw Daeron in the keep recently,” he said.

Daeron was only a young boy, barely in his teenage years when he was caught stealing a loaf of bread from the kitchens in the keep. Tyrion saw fit to have the boy thrown in a cell and punished. The only crime the boy was guilty of was trying to feed his sick mother and starving siblings.

When Jorah saw that boy sitting in the cell, he realised that punishing him by hanging him or cutting off his hand would make him no better than the man he’d been when he sold poachers into slavery to make a pretty penny and keep his wife happy. The years spent traveling a lonely road of redemption would mean nothing if he consigned the boy to the same fate as those poachers.

“He says the head gamekeeper has been giving him more responsibility and wants him to take up the post when he retires.”

“I am pleased for him,” Daenerys said encouragingly, knowing that Jorah had always kept an eye on the young boy and his family’s progress since that day in the cells several years ago.

Jorah frowned. “The head gamekeeper needs to keep records and Daeron can neither read nor write.”

“Then we shall assign a maester and teach him.”

Jorah shook his head, the reaction was not what Daenerys had expected. “There are too many Daeron’s out there, Daenerys. Too many children who do not have access to the simple things that we take for granted. Those children end up on the streets, or worse, in cells or brothels because they’ve had the misfortune of not being born into a wealthy family.”

Daenerys looked at him in confusion, unsure of what he was asking. He seemed to pick up on her unspoken question.

“I think all children in King’s Landing should be taught to read and write. Every child should have an equal start in life, regardless of their bloodline.”

“Are you asking me to break the wheel once more?” She asked as a smile crept across her face.

He looked at her, never having been more serious about anything. “I am.”

She looked at him for a number of moments. “I will not,” she said, his face dropping immediately as he looked crestfallen at her response. 

“ _We_ shall break the wheel,” she said as she took his face in her hands. “Together.”


	5. Honour Amongst Men

“I’m sorry,” Tyrion said, shaking his head as if to clear it. “I think I misheard what you just said, Your Grace.”

“You hear me well enough, Tyrion,” Daenerys responded quickly.

The small man still appeared stunned at what he was asked to do.

“You’re suggesting every child in King’s Landing be given an education. Are you aware of how many children there are in the city?”

“As my Hand, it is your job to know,” Daenerys replied coolly.

Tyrion shifted in his chair, stung by the rebuke but determined to make his point. “I can assure you that it is more than we have the resources for. And what happens when the lords of other kingdoms are made aware of such folly?”

The word ‘folly’ slipped from Tyrion’s mouth before he could stop it.

“Watch your mouth, Lannister,” Jorah Mormont growled, his hands balling into fists on the long wooden table of the small council chambers. “You are talking to your queen.”

Tyrion shot the other man a pointed look before looking to Daenerys apologetically. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I am simply a little surprised by the request.”

“If you do not believe you are capable of achieving what I’ve asked, I’ll find someone more suited to the role of being my Hand.”

Deanery’s knew Tyrion well enough to appeal to his vanity and ego. Even if he disagreed with her commands, he would fulfil them merely to prove that he could.

Daenerys looked to her husband and caught the small smile quirking at his lips at her words.

“As it pleases you, Your Grace,” Tyrion said, bowing his head and scowling at Jorah as the assembled small council collected their papers and belongings and left the room.

Several meters from the council chambers, Jorah heard Tyrion call out to him.

“I know this is your doing,” Tyrion said as he struggled to keep up with the other man’s much longer legs and larger strides. 

“Meaning?” Jorah growled, refusing to look at him.

“Yesterday the queen was focused on strengthening relationships across the Narrow Sea and now she wishes us to put every child in the city in front of a maester - something that will not strengthen our position in the Free Cities nor swell our coffers in the slightest.”

“Do you doubt your queen’s judgement?”

Tyrion let out a sigh. “Only when it comes to you.”

Jorah pinned Tyrion against the wall, his legs dangling helplessly above the ground. Tyrion braced for the often-promised punch that Jorah had always threatened but never actually delivered.

He soon found his feet back on the ground. “For all of your bluster, you are a remarkably sentimental old man, Mormont, “ Tyrion said as he straightened his clothes. “Being a father has made you soft.”

“Talk to me about parenting when you have been one, Imp.”

Tyrion winced at the retort, the words stinging painfully. It was unlikely he would ever father children of his own, a fact that Jorah Mormont knew only too well and was happy to use against him.

Brushing the comment off, Tyrion continued to follow the knight. “I know you’re not as stupid as you look,” the small man shot back. “You have almost as much brain as you do brawn.”

It was the closest Tyrion would ever come to paying his adversary a compliment.

“While this quest for redemption is quite endearing to watch,” Tyrion continued, “you cannot save them all. Not even the great Jorah Mormont, can save every poor sap out there. If your heart bleeds for everyone in need, they’ll soon drain you dry, old man.”

“Then we are no different than those who came before us.” Jorah replied. “What use was the bloodshed if we make the same mistakes as those we sought to depose? The queen has a gentle heart -“ “

“One which you have a significant hold over,” Tyrion cut in quickly. “Let us both hope that your sentimentality doesn’t bring us all to ruin.”

* * *

At the risk of raising his wife’s ire, Jorah Mormont took himself off to the stables to brush down his faithful horse, Meraxes. Between the small council meeting and his conversation with Tyrion, he’d had enough talking for one day.

Needing to do something with his hands, Jorah had always taken the care and time to look after Meraxes himself. He would brush down and feed the stallion daily, never leaving it to stable boys or squires, with the exception of the stomach fever that had almost killed him several years ago.

Tending to his horse had a way of helping calm his mind and Jorah found solace in the repetition of stroking the brush across Meraxes’ strong flanks and flowing mane. Spending time with a creature who did not talk back allowed Jorah time to process his thoughts without being prodded to reveal them.

As much as he appreciated those who cared for and loved him, Jorah would always be man who preferred to brood rather than talk about his feelings. It was the Northern way and despite not ever returning to Bear Island since his exile many years previously, it was a trait that he was not willing nor able to give up.

The resistance from Tyrion washad been expected and Jorah knew full well that the Lannister would baulk at the mere suggestion that every child in King’s Landing should be treated equally, regardless of birth or their parents standing in the realm.

Tyrion was too smart a man to raise his concerns with the queen, knowing that her husband was a far easier target for his displeasure. Jorah was fully aware of his standing within the kingdom and it was less than that of the Hand of the Queen. He was merely the queen’s consort and held no political power of his own.

Tyrion was also a man to not mince his words and although it had been expected, Jorah felt Tyrion’s last words hit home, leaving a mark that still stung hours after their conversation.

Perhaps the imp was right. Maybe he held too much sway over his wife’s decisions when it came to her reign. From the moment she confessed her love for him, Daenerys had done everything in her power to prove her feelings for him were genuine and true. Had he somehow unconsciously used her willingness to please him to his own advantage?

Would she have readily agreed to his suggestion had it been Tyrion or Ser Davos who had brought the matter to her?

He’d been blinded by love before and had brought himself to ruin because of it. Jorah knew better than most how love could make a rational man make poor choices. Love was not only in the heart, it affected every sense, love made you hear the words your heart desired, silencing the truth until it was too late for your sane mind to do anything about it.

Maybe he was too close to her to see that his ideas were folly. Maybe having him so close would bring Daenerys to ruin. Maybe he was better off…

“Jorah the Andal, I have been looking for you.”

The sound of Grey Worm’s voice took Jorah by surprise as he realised he’d been too lost in his own thoughts to hear the man approach.

“Is everything ok?” Jorah asked. It was unusual for Grey Worm to bother him with trivial matters. The man was experienced enough both as a solider and a leader to only come to him with matters that needed serious and immediate attention. “Is it the queen?” He asked, suddenly alert to any possible threat to his wife.

Grey Worm shook his head. “The queen is with Missandei in her chambers. I speak to you. I have question to ask.”

Jorah furrowed his brow. “Go ahead,” he replied, picking up the brush and tending to Meraxes once more. It was a small gesture, but one appreciated by Grey Worm who would find it easier to talk if the two of them were not making eye contact.

“I see Missandei with your children and I see the smile it brings her to spend time with them.”

“Both you and Missandei are welcome to spend as much time with the twins as you like, they adore you both,” Jorah replied, still not clear on what Grey Worm was asking of him. “I trust that you will care for and protect our children as if they were your own.”

Grey Worm shook his head, clearly frustrated with his poor grasp of the common tongue and his ability to clearly articulate himself. “Missandei make good mother and it hurts I…me,” Grey Worm corrected himself, “that I cannot give her child.”

Jorah stopped brushing the horse as the meaning of the other man’s words sank in. He was keenly aware at just how much it cost Grey Worm to admit that he would be unable to father children of his own, even more so in front of another man and especially one he respected so highly as a warrior.

“I see children in streets with no parents,” Grey Worm continued, “children who need mother and father to care for them.”

“You want to take some of these children in?” Jorah asked. “To raise them as your own?”

Grey Worm nodded, his gaze dropping to the ground. “Missandei make good mother to children, but me…I…did not have parent. Unsullied taught to be warriors and not feel emotion.”

“You’re worried that you won’t be a good father?” Jorah asked.

Grey Worm nodded. “Child needs love and affection. What if I cannot give child that?”

“Will you care for and protect that child?”

“I will,” Grey Worm responded.

“Will you put their wants and needs before your own?”

“I will.”

“Will you give your life to protect them?”

“I will.”

“Then you will make a fine father,” Jorah smiled, “just as you are a fine man.”

They were words that Grey Worm clearly had not been expecting as his usually stoic expression gave way to a look of surprise.

“Jorah the Andal honours I…me,” Grey Worm said, standing proudly.

Jorah felt the tips of his ears reddening, clearly uncomfortable with the compliment. “I’m not sure I am the right person to be asking about such things. There are many men better suited - ”

Grey Worm shook his head. “Jorah the Andal is fierce warrior and best man I know. Unsullied respect you more than any other man. We will fight to death for you and our queen. It is honour to serve you.”

Jorah shuffled his feet, scratching at his beard nervously. “You owe me no honour, Grey Worm. I am nothing more than a disgraced knight.”

“Jorah the Andal is loyal and has more honour than any man Grey Worm knows. He is only man I trust with Missandei.”

Grey Worm was fiercely protective of Missandei and never more so than after they had married. The ceremony had been a fine affair with Daenerys sparing no expense for her confidant and the head of the Unsullied army. 

Jorah had been surprised when Grey Worm had asked him to stand with him during the ceremony as Daenerys did the same for Missandei. To have witnesses stand with the bride and groom was a Westerosi custom, and one that the couple had taken on now that their life was in King’s Landing and not across the Narrow Sea and beyond, where different customs and cultures held more sway. It had not occurred to Jorah even for a moment that Grey Worm had asked him to stand by his side as a gesture of respect, rather than for appearances’ sake.

Placing the brush down and giving Meraxes one final pat, Jorah stood face to face with Grey Worm. “Then the honour is mine. If there is anything I can do to help, you need only to ask.” Jorah said, reaching out a hand toward the other man and shaking it, the gesture conveying more than words alone ever could.


	6. The Maester and the Miserable Old Git

So caught up in reading the papers on his desk, Jorah did not hear his wife approach him from behind, only becoming aware of her presence as she wrapped her arms around his body.

“Come to bed,” she said softly, her hot breath tickling his ear as she whispered to him. “It is late.”

He frowned, even though she couldn’t see it. Raising a hand to run it through his hair, Jorah turned his head slightly to look at her. “I still have all of these to look through,” he sighed, gesturing to the pile of papers in front of him.

“They can wait until the morning,” Daenerys replied, her tone becoming slightly impatient with the man she loved. “Another night will not matter.”

He turned around in his chair to look at her, his hands finding their way to rest upon her hips. “Another night will matter to the children whose life is on the streets. I cannot sleep soundly in my bed knowing that they have no home or family to speak of.”

His words were so sincere and the earnest look on his face melted away any resolve Daenerys might have had to force him to finish his work for the night.

Ever since the subject of education had been raised in the small council meeting, there had been an air of tension surrounding both Jorah and Tyrion whenever they were in the same room. The two of them were barely civil to one another and the barbed comments traded between them had been noticed by all.

It had not been the first time the two men had butted heads and neither would it be the last with them having a complex shared history during their time across the Narrow Sea and beyond. There was no more stubborn a man than Jorah Mormont, yet something about this current project spurred him on even more.

It was more than a project to Jorah, that much was clear by the amount of time he had already invested in bringing their plans to fruition, yet both of them knew that the lords and ladies of Westeros would not take kindly to Daenerys’ latest endeavour to break new ground in her reign as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

It would be nigh on impossible to please those in power across Westeros to accept her plans if even her small council objected to the idea, so Jorah had spent countless nights pouring over books, papers and ledgers in an effort to evidence the benefits such a stark change would bring.

Tyrion Lannister had objected to the idea of education for all on the principle of cost alone. Taxes would be raised and the rich would be expected to give their coin to the poor. Tyrion had warned that Daenerys would never garner the love of the powerful and the small folk alike and that any attempt to push through with the changes would lead to civil war and revolt.

All of these reasons and more had only strengthened Jorah’s resolve to find a solution that would be agreeable to all and continue the peace that the Seven Kingdoms had enjoyed for a number of years during her reign. He had been working tirelessly both day and night and Daenerys could tell that it was starting to take its toll on him.

That left her with only one course of action - she would appeal to his sense of loyalty and love for his family.

“The children missed you reading them a story this evening,” she said, conscious that she was emotionally blackmailing him, but reminding herself that she was doing it for his own good.

He gave her a tired smile, fully aware of what she was doing. “I’m sure they enjoyed hearing a different voice at bedtime.”

“As much as it wounds me to say it, they much prefer their father’s voice when it comes to story time,” Daenerys replied as she played with the collar of his tunic. “I’ve missed your voice…and your arms too…” her words trailed off as she placed a soft kiss on his brow which had seen too much tension recently. “I cannot sleep soundly lying in our bed alone.”

She smiled as he let out a resigned sigh, blowing out the candle on his desk and letting her lead him to their bed for the evening.

* * *

“Here, drink this,” Samwell Tarly said, thrusting a tankard of ale at Jorah, smiling innocently as the older man glowered at him.

“The queen has put you up to this, hasn’t she?”

Jorah was nothing if not a shrewd man. After last night’s conversation with his wife, it was too much of a coincidence for Sam to ask him out for a drink this evening.

“Can a man not want to spend time with his friend?” Sam asked, taking a swig of his own ale.

Jorah let out a huff. “I’ve hardly been good company lately.”

Jorah felt his cheeks flush with shame at how hard he’d been on Sam during their last training session when the younger man had rightly punched him in the face for his taunting words.

“Some would argue that you’ve never been good company.”

The words made Jorah smile rather than anger him. His relationship with Samwell Tarly had only strengthened through the passing years. 

Sam’s demeanour had slowly changed as he finally found his calling as a maester and his confidence grew steadily with it. No longer was he a nervous man too easily cowed by the sheer physical strength or presence of those around him. In some small way, Jorah liked to think that his tutelage of the young man and his friendship with him had helped Sam grow into the man he was today.

“The maester and the miserable old git,” Jorah said, shaking his head and taking another gulp of his drink. “I’m sure they’ll be singing songs about us for centuries to come.” 

Sam frowned, knowing Jorah could be terse and dour when the mood took him, but there was something else, although Sam couldn’t put his finger on what was affecting his friend.

“What troubles you?” Sam asked, having known Jorah Mormont long enough to realise the man would not be forthcoming unless prodded into submission by a well-meaning loved one. Trying to get the old knight to talk about his feelings was about as easy as baptising a kitten.

Jorah waved a hand dismissively before using it to stroke his beard. “Just a foolish notion,” he said, dully. “I should know by now that my duties are as a knight, not a politician.”

“Ah,” Sam said, nodding his head. “This is about the small council meeting the other day?”

As Grand Maester of King’s Landing, it was Sam’s job to be present at such meetings. His input was essential in keeping the queen informed of what was happening throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

Jorah’s head sank further towards his chest, letting out a defeated sigh. “I am no politician, merely the king of wishful thinking.” Jorah shook his head bitterly, draining the last of his ale before wiping the remnants of it from his lips with the back of his hand.

To his surprise, Jorah found another tankard of ale placed under his nose. He looked up at Sam.

“Since when have you given up when things got tough?” Sam asked. “You sat through me skinning you alive and barely made a sound and now you’re letting Tyrion get the better of you and sulking about it.”

“There is much more to it than that and besides, I’m not the man you think I am,” Jorah growled.

“Yes, you are,” Sam shot back before Jorah could speak again. “You’re Jorah bloody Mormont! How many times have you beaten the odds to come back to the woman you love?” He asked and without waiting for an answer. “Did you ever give up on her?”

The question caught Jorah off-guard. “Of course not.”

“Then why are you giving up on yourself?”

“It is not that simple,” Jorah replied with a sigh, running a tired hand over his weary face.

“Seems pretty simple to me,” Sam said with conviction. “You’re giving up without a fight.”

Sam knew the comment would generate a response from Jorah and he expected a fierce glare. He was greeted with a frown and a deep sigh instead.

“This is not a battle that I know how to win. I don’t have the knowledge or skill to be a politician, nor do I have the energy to try. Perhaps Tyrion was right, the idea was folly to begin with.”

“Bollocks,” Sam said, bringing his flagon of ale down with more force than was necessary. “You’re trying to make a difference when all Tyrion Lannister is interested in his keeping his job. What happened to breaking the wheel?”

Jorah gave his friend a rueful look. “Tyrion is far better versed in the rules of this game than I am. He already has most of the small council discounting the idea on the grounds of expense alone.”

“Then find a way to raise the money,” Sam suggested.

“And risk uprising and rebellion? The Seven Kingdoms have already seen too much bloodshed. It does not need any more and the rich will not take kindly to their money being spent on the small folk.”

Sam remained silent for a number of minutes, stroking his beard in contemplation. “Maybe you could raise the taxes on the wine sinks and brothels. Tyrion will have paid for the whole scheme himself within a month.”

Jorah barked out a laugh. “Aye, the idea is tempting, for sure. You are a wiser and smarter man than I, Sam.”

Sam looked at his friend intently. “There is one thing I do know for certain,” Sam said as Jorah looked at him expectantly. “Despite what you might have done in the past, you father would be proud of the man you are now.”

“Sam - “ Jorah began, shaking his head and feeling his eyes moisten.

“If you believed in yourself as half as much as you believe in those around you… Bloody hell Jorah, why can’t you see that your biggest problem isn’t Tyrion or the rest of the small council....it’s you.”

Jorah nodded his head, knowing it wasn’t a point he could argue with. Despite everything he’d done and how far he’d come from the man he’d been before, Jorah would always be the one person who would never forgive him for his past crimes.

* * *

Returning to the quarters he shared with his wife and children, Jorah realised that Sam had given him much to think about and not only about his plans for the Seven Kingdoms. He was still mulling over Sam’s words when Daenerys stirred at the sound of him entering their bedroom.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” he said as he sat on the edge of the bed, gently moving her hair from her shoulder and caressing it lightly.

His wife looked at him sleepily. “Did you talk to Sam?”

Despite being half asleep, Jorah saw the knowing smile on his wife’s face.

“Aye,” he replied, bending down to kiss her on the cheek. “Sam is good at many things, but lying is not one of them. I know you put him up to it.”

He stood up, removing his tunic and readying himself to join Daenerys under the covers. She watched him move around the room and let out a contented sigh as he joined her in the bed.

“A wise man once told me that no one can survive in this world alone,” she purred as she ran a hand up and down his bare chest.

“Indeed,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head and closing his eyes, realising that those around him clearly knew him better than he knew himself.


	7. The Word Is Mightier Than The Sword

“Sam, I need to speak with you,” Jorah said, walking up to the thirteen year old boy as he shovelled hay and manure out of Meraxes’ stable.

The young boy put the shovel down immediately and stood to attention, his respect for the old knight clear in the way the young man held himself. “Yes, Ser.”

Perhaps it had been an unconscious choice, but Jorah had strapped Heartsbane to his hip before leaving his quarters this morning. He may make a poor politician, but he was a loyal and proud knight and the folk of King’s Landing should remember that, if nothing else.

“Maester Burns spoke with me this morning. He says that you’ve been neglecting your studies.”

The young man looked sheepishly at the knight he proudly squired for. “Books are for maesters, not knights. I would rather spend my time learning from you, Ser.”

“You wish to become a good knight, Sam?” Jorah asked his young squire.

The boy puffed out his chest. “The best, just like you, Ser. I want to join the Queensguard when I come of age.”

“And how will you do that if you struggle to read and write?” Jorah asked the boy. “How will you guide the men under your command if you know nothing about strategy or you cannot read a battle plan?”

Young Sam Tarly opened his mouth to reply but found himself being cut off.

“If you one day wish to be Lord Commander, how will you advise your king or queen if you know nothing about the history of the Seven Kingdoms?”

Young Sam Tarly dropped his gaze to the ground. “I am sorry, Ser. I’ll try harder and do better.”

Jorah placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “You have been afforded opportunities many boys your age have not. I expect to hear a much better report the next time I speak to Maester Burns.”

“Aye, Ser,” the boy said glumly.

Jorah smiled, knowing that his young squire was as eager to be a knight as Jorah himself had been as a boy. As much as he had hated having to study, the skills taught to him by the maesters on Bear Island had proved invaluable to Jorah as an adult.

“When you’ve finished cleaning the stable, give Meraxes his apples and then you can finish for the day.” Sam nodded, picking up the shovel once more but found himself stopped by the knight’s hand on his arm. “Perhaps use the time to read this,” Jorah said, handing a book to the boy. “Tomorrow you can tell me what you’ve learned from it.”

Jorah chuckled to himself as he walked away from the stables, hearing Sam grumble something unintelligible under his breath. The boy was eager and impatient to be an adult and become a knight like the man he squired for. His impetuousness reminded Jorah of himself at the same age.

“Ser Jorah, do you have a moment?”

Jorah turned to see Ser Davos Seaworth approaching him from behind. He didn’t like the pensive look on the other man’s face. “Of course.”

Ser Davos looked around before leaning towards his fellow knight. “I think it might be best if we talk somewhere a little more…private.”

Jorah’s senses were immediately heightened. He nodded to Ser Davos and followed him from the stables to a storage shed where it was likely they would not be overheard.

“I thought you should know before the small council meeting later today that a raven arrived from Winterfell this morning,” Ser Davos said, keeping his voice low.

Jorah frowned. While Sansa Stark and Daenerys Targaryen would never be close, they had brokered an alliance that kept the North satisfied and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms in relative peace for several years now. Sansa Stark was not one to write often and the mere fact that she had done so was a cause for concern.

“And what of it?” Ser Jorah responded, keeping his voice level and matching the volume of his fellow knight.

Ser Davos scratched the back of his head, looking over his shoulder once more. “It would appear that word of your….plans have reached the North. Lady Sansa Stark intends to travel south to King’s Landing with several her bannermen and the lords and ladies from the neighbouring cities. Word has also been sent to the Iron Islands, Dorne and the Vale.”

“I see,” Jorah said, his eyes narrowing. “And how do you imagine word has spread so far and so wide, Ser Davos?”

Jorah already had an idea of who was behind it, but wanted Ser Davos to confirm his suspicions all the same.

“Tyrion Lannister is my best bet,” Ser Davos said with a grimace. “All this talk of education for all has gone down with him about as well as a dose of the howling shites.”

The words confirmed what Jorah already believed to be true - that Tyrion Lannister planned to thwart the revolution before it started. While Daenerys was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and could do as she pleased, the lords and ladies of Westeros and beyond could exert enough pressure to cause her to back down, for fear of inciting the type of bloodshed that had been seen during the reign of the Lannisters several years ago.

Daenerys Targaryen wished to be a benevolent leader and Tyrion was aware that her desire for peace and harmony throughout Westeros would always come before her own wants and desires. By informing Sansa Stark of the radical changes being instigated in King’s Landing, Tyrion had gambled on the North reacting none too kindly to the news. It was a tactic that appeared to have worked if Lady Sansa and her retinue of lords and ladies were making the significant journey and travelling south to meet with their monarch.

Ser Davos gave his counterpart a sympathetic look. “For what it’s worth, Ser Jorah, I think the idea of teaching children to read and write is an admirable one. It would have made my life a hell of a lot easier to learn that skill as a child,” he said ruefully.

Jorah sensed there was something else Ser Davos wanted to say. “But?”

“You know as well as I do that the line between the rich and the poor is vast. That’s always been the way of the world. Always has and always will be. You’ll not find many rich folks in favour of giving their gold away to the folks of places like Flea Bottom.”

“You think me a fool for even considering the notion?” Jorah asked, a hint of ice in his tone.

“I don’t think anyone would consider you a fool, Ser Jorah. Underneath that gruff exterior of yours you have a gentle heart, just like your wife.”

Ser Jorah ran a hand over his beard, feeling every year of his age now weighing down on him heavily. “You think me weak?”

“Of course not,” Ser Davos said quickly. “Your benevolence is half the reason that the Seven Kingdoms are not still at war with each other. I’m merely suggesting that some people might look to take advantage of that fact.”

After days of running the possibilities through his mind, Jorah suddenly felt beyond weary and older than his years. “Then what do you suggest I do? Give up entirely?”

“You’re not a quitter, that’s for sure,” Ser Davos huffed, the admiration for his fellow knight clear in his tone.

Jorah let out a deep sigh. “I am at a loss as to what to do, Ser Davos. Politics has never been something that I have been keen to indulge in.”

Jorah felt a hand on his shoulder. “I suggest playing Tyrion at his own game,” Ser Davos said with a wry smile. “The man thinks he’s too clever by half. He’ll think the battle is already won.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Ser Jorah said, his tone defeated.

“It’ll probably be a moon’s turn before Lady Stark and her contingent arrive. I guess we’ve got until then to figure out how the hell we’re going to make this work.”

The word ‘we’ caught Jorah by surprise as he looked at the other man. “What do you mean?”

“I’d like to think I’m a good judge of character,” Ser Davos said, patting Jorah on the shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I believe in this and I believe in you. People admire you, old man. You have more allies than you realise.”

Jorah said nothing, looking at his fellow knight doubtfully. Adding to the pressure of putting his plans for King’s Landing into practice, he also had the expectation of not only his wife but that of his fellow members of the small council.

The imminent arrival of Lady Sansa Stark and her allies in the North only increased Ser Jorah’s sense of panic. He had a moon’s turn, possibly less, to figure out how he would convince the Seven Kingdoms to change a fundamental part of their way of living and he realised that he would need all the allies he could muster if he ever stood a chance of making his dream a reality.


	8. Premonitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're getting two chapters for the price of one this week!
> 
> Chapters 8 and 9 follow on immediately from each other and I felt it made the chapter too long to have it all in one and so I have separated the scenes to ramp up a bit more sexual tension (and chapter 9 is kinda short when posted on its own)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy what is easily my smuttiest pair of chapters yet...

“Jorah, help me. Please!”

His heart constricted as he saw the two heavy-set knights grab his wife by the arms and push her into a kneeling position.

“Let her go!” He shouted with all the strength he could muster, but what little remained seeped from his body along with his blood.

Their captors had caught them by surprise. There was no way that they would have been able to infiltrate the keep without help from someone who knew the layout of the structure and the myriad of tunnels that ran underneath King’s Landing, its arteries spreading far and wide across the fertile lands.

Jorah realised that he and Daenerys were not alone in their quarters when he felt the sharp blade enter his back, his assailant moving the weapon with such speed that it brought Jorah quickly to his knees as he felt the blade slip from his body, only to be thrust back in again.

He felt the blood slowly fill his throat and knew that it would only be a matter of time before he would lose what little strength he had left, but like that fateful night at Winterfell, he would never give up fighting for the woman he loved. He would give his life if it meant saving hers.

Jorah felt his vision blur, the sound of Daenerys weeping and begging him for help cutting deeper than the assassins blade ever could.

“If you want someone, take…” His words were cut off as blood filled his mouth. Groaning, he spat it on the ground. He would beg these men if it meant he could save her. “Take me,” he gasped.

He heard one of the men behind him laugh. “We have no use for you, old man. We have come for the queen and we shall take her.”

“She…” Jorah gasped as his mouth filled with blood once more. “She is your queen.”

Jorah felt himself being shoved forward and the ground rising up to meet him before he could stop himself with his hands.

“A queen who dishonours her loyal lords and ladies is no queen of ours. Jon Snow was a fool to ever trust this foreigner. We will never bend the knee to the likes of her again.”

This time, he felt the familiar sting of a blade enter his body as it severed his spinal cord. As the rest of the blood in his body slowly drained away, he used the last of his energy to take one final look at his Khaleesi, the sound dying in his throat as he watched the blade slicing hers clean open. 

Their lives had been intertwined for so many years that they shared a synchronicity that went far beyond the close bond of a queen and her knight. Like two sides of the same coin, their souls bound by something far beyond any magic known within the corporeal realm, the light died in his own eyes as hers stared vacantly back at him.

“Jorah….Jorah, wake up!” 

He shot up quickly, his chest heaving as he gasped, desperately trying to fill his lungs with much-needed oxygen, the sheet dropping to his lap as he trembled.

He felt Daenerys’ arms guiding his still shaking form toward her and allowed himself to be embraced by the woman he loved.

“Shhh,” she crooned in his ear as she stroked the other side of his face with her hand. “It’s ok. The children and I are here, we’re safe.”

Jorah had nightmares for as long as Daenerys could remember and even though she knew relatively little of her husband’s life before they met at her fateful wedding to Khal Drogo, their shared history had been fraught with more horror than any man should have to bear. The scars that Jorah bore from the seemingly endless battles they had faced throughout the years were far more than just physical.

It eased her mind to know that her husband’s troubled dreams were relatively few and far between and in recent times seemed to occur only in times of ill health or anxiety. 

Daenerys felt him start to thrash only moments ago and shook his shoulder in an attempt to wake him, but whatever ghoul was haunting him refused to let go. She was relieved when he shot up straight in bed and opened his eyes, although she could tell that the nefarious tendrils of horror were leaving his weary body reluctantly.

Having experienced so many of the distressing dreams that ailed the man she loved throughout their years together, the first thing Daenerys would always do was reassure Jorah that she was safe and unharmed, and since the birth of their children, she had added their names to the list knowing that he would always fear for their safety until the day he died.

Jorah ran a shaky hand over his face, wiping away the sweat threatening to fall into his eyes. “Daenerys….I….” Try as he might, he could not arrest the shivers permeating his body. It was enough for Daenerys to gently push him back down to the pillows and cover them both with the sheet.

“What time is it?” Jorah asked, slowly coming back to awareness as the dream finally released him from its clutches.

She kissed him on the cheek. “It is still early,” she said as she stroked his bearded cheek. “Go back to sleep.”

Exhaling deeply, Jorah closed his eyes, finding himself lulled to sleep by the circular rhythmic patterns Daenerys traced over his body.

* * *

Jorah punched the large straw doll in front of him repeatedly, feeling the sweat drop from his brow as he expended his pent-up energy and frustration in the room in which he regularly trained Samwell Tarly in the basics of sword fighting.

The look he’d given people on his way to the training room made it clear that he was in no mood for talking. Even several of the workers in the keep who knew him well kept their distance and dropped their gaze as he stalked past them.

Despite reassuring Daenerys that he was fine as they and the children broke their fast earlier that morning, the demons that had plagued his dreams during the night followed him insistently into the day.

He was not foolish enough to believe dreams to be some sort of premonition or a foretelling of what was to come, but the manner of this latest dream was not lost on him either. His subconscious was only telling him what he believed to be true - that his notion of educating every child in the city was folly at best and political suicide in the extreme, if Tyrion Lannister was to be believed.

It had been several days since Ser Davos had informed the small council of the intentions of Sansa Stark and her allies and the thought of a coup full of bloodshed and death had gnawed away at him ever since. History had not been kind to rulers who sought to bring about radical changes throughout the Seven Kingdoms and many had paid for them with their lives.

With each day that passed, Jorah’s anxiety steadily grew and although he tried to hide it from those around him, his subconscious would not be denied and last night had betrayed the truth he'd been trying so hard to conceal.

Daenerys had shot him several worried looks during their morning meal and Jorah had been grateful for Aeron’s incessant chattering. His son had always been exuberant in his moods and had inherited much of his mother’s fiery spirit. It seemed that he woke with the energy of ten children this morning and it was all it took to keep Daenerys occupied long enough so that he was able to slip out of their quarters quietly as his wife readied their children for the day ahead.

He’d long since removed his tunic as he pounded at the straw figure with all the strength he could muster. He had grown weary of talking, weary of justifying his thoughts, his position on the small council, his position in the queen’s affections….

His hands were sore despite the cloth straps he’d wrapped around them, but the repetitive motion of striking the figure before him helped to calm his troubled mind. So intent on his task, Jorah didn’t hear his wife approach him from behind.

“I thought I might find you here,” she said, with a hint of amusement in her voice. Her husband had always been stubborn and set in his ways, which made his behaviour all the more predictable to his wife.

Halfway through striking the straw doll again, the sound of Daenerys’ voice took him by surprise as his punch veered wildly off target.

“Khaleesi…I…”

She silenced him with a finger to his lips.

“Do not think that I did not see you sneaking out this morning.”

He tried to look affronted at the remark and failed. “There were things that needed my attention,” he said quietly as he removed the fabric straps from his hands, clenching his fists repeatedly in an effort to ease the stiffness in them.

Daenerys looked over his shoulder at what remained of the straw figure, arching an eyebrow at her husband. “It would seem he has had your undivided attention for some time now.”

Seeing the look on her face, Jorah felt guilty for having left her to see to the children this morning, but he had needed to find some time alone for himself to work through his troubles, away from the well-meaning intentions of those around him.

Dropping his gaze to the floor, Jorah spoke quietly. “I am sorry if I have disappointed you - “

She cut him off as she gently raised his chin so that he had no choice but to look at her. “You have never disappointed me, Jorah. Nor will you ever.” She gave him a sad smile. “I worry for you.”

Jorah lifted a hand and stroked Daenerys’ face with the tips of his fingers. “There is no need to.”

She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath, forcing her anger beneath the surface once more. “I am your wife, it is my duty to worry about you.”

He shook his head. “You need not. It is my duty as a knight and a husband to protect you. My concerns will always be secondary to yours.”

She broke away from him quickly. “Do you really believe me to be so callous that I would turn away when I see you suffering?”

He realised his mistake all too late. “You are a queen…and a khaleesi.”

“I am also your wife,” she said, more softly this time. “What point is there in marriage if we cannot look after each other?” Looking down, her eyes caught the red and swollen knuckles on his hands. “You worry too much…take on too many responsibilities. Allow me to take care of you for once.”

He shook his head, yet he knew her gentle touch alone would defeat whatever stubborn resistance he tried to give. “Khaleesi - “

“Do you trust me?” She asked, taking a piece of the cloth Jorah had recently discarded.

He looked at her directly. “There is no one else I trust more than you.”

She smiled at him as she held the cloth in her hands. “Then kneel for me.”

The request took him by surprise. He dropped to his knees the moment she asked, letting out a small gasp as she placed the material over his eyes and tied it in place.

“How many times have you risked your life for me? How many times have you protected me from harm?”

He wasn’t sure if the questions were rhetorical and his inability to see anything beyond the fabric covering his eyes had the rest of his senses on full alert.

“I would give my life for yours,” he answered her, turning his head in an effort to locate her.

“That night, at Winterfell,” she began, her voice catching in her throat at the memory. “I held a sword and fought alongside you. Do you remember?”

He would never forget that fateful night. He nodded his head, still searching for her as she walked in circles around him, her footfalls a soft clicking noise on the ground.

“My only thought was to protect you. I would have taken any of those blades if I could.”

He dropped his head. “Then I would have failed in my duty as a knight. It is my responsibility - “

He swallowed thickly as she tipped his head upwards, gently grasping his chin. “No, it is _our_ responsibility,” she corrected him. “Now, let me show you.”


	9. Fifty Shades of Jorah

_He swallowed thickly as she tipped his head upwards, gently grasping his chin. “It is our responsibility,” she corrected him. “Now, let me show you.”_

* * *

Jorah swallowed thickly, turning his head from left to right as he heard her footsteps.

Suddenly, her voice was in his ear, her hot breath tingling against his bearded cheek.

“Keep your hands by your sides,” she commanded him, the steel in her voice sending a pleasurable sensation to his groin. He shifted slightly, trying to ease the pressure in his loins.

“Khaleesi - “

Suddenly, the warmth of her breath was gone, it appeared on his other cheek almost instantly. “You swore to obey me, to follow my commands, no matter what.”

He let out a shaky breath. “No matter what,” he confirmed, licking his dry lips in anticipation.

“Then I command you to trust me and do exactly as I say.” She kissed his cheek, her hand softly caressing the other side of his face. “Will you do as I command?”

A small whimper left his throat before he could stop it as he felt her move away from him. “Yes.”

“Say it,” she commanded, standing behind him.

“I….I will do as you command. I swear.”

“You will submit to me. Do I have your word?”

“Yes, Khaleesi.”

Jorah felt her hands on his shoulders, her touch alone setting his nerve endings on fire as she kissed her way along his shoulders before placing more kisses against the side of his neck. It took all of his strength to keep his hands by his sides as she made contact with the sensitive area just below his ear. Her lips travelled across his face as he craned his neck to bring her closer to him. He felt his manhood tighten painfully as his lips finally found hers.

He could have lost himself in her lips, the rest of the kingdom be damned. No longer was his mind filled with thoughts of politics or coups. Visions of his Khaleesi and the things he would do to pleasure her were the only images he could bring to mind. Unable to see her with his eyes, his mind brought forth her mesmerising image from the many memories of their bodies laying entwined, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

He wanted her. He wanted to take her in so many different ways, to kiss her until the world fell down around them, to feel her lips on his for eternity.

And then her lips were gone.

He let out a pained groan. “Khaleesi, please.”

It had come to this. This proud man from Bear Island would resort to begging if he had to.

“Stand,” Daenery ordered as she took his hands in her own.

He pulled himself to his feet as he tried to familiarise himself with his surroundings using his remaining senses. Suddenly, he felt himself pushed back against the wall, making him gasp as his bare skin came in contact with the cold stone surface.

His hands raised, he searched for her.

“Did I give you permission to touch me?”

He shook his head, completely disorientated yet utterly transfixed by the sound of her voice. Jorah would do anything she commanded, he had been under her spell from the moment he met her.

He screwed his eyes shut from behind the fabric as her hands ran up and down his chest, his breath coming in short gasps as her fingers ghosted across his skin and the scars that marred its surface. He flinched before he could stop himself as her hand touched the scar closest to his heart - the one that had nearly cost him his life at Winterfell.

“Does it hurt?” She asked softly.

“No,” he replied, willing his hands to stay by his sides as she kissed the side of his mouth before laying her forehead on his chest.

“My bear,” she whispered. “My strong, brave bear. What did I ever do without you?”

He wanted to take her in his arms then. He wanted to hold her close and promise that he would never leave her side. Only death would separate him from the woman who had stolen his heart so many years ago. He would go to it willingly for her.

“You are more precious to me than any throne,” she whispered in his ear. “We could leave tomorrow and I would never look back. The four of us… we could live in our little house with the red door…the lemon trees. The kingdom…the throne...I would give it all up…for you.”

Her hands found their way to his waist. Taking one of his hands, she lifted it to her chest, her heart beating strongly beneath it.

“You are the only man who has ever had my heart. I cannot….I _will_ not do this without you. Do you swear to never leave my side again?”

He swallowed thickly, the urge to pull her to him almost too much. “I will never leave you, I swear.”

“Do you swear to be mine and no-one else’s?”

He felt her hands snake back towards his face as she leant her forehead to his. “There has never been anyone else - “

“Say it,” she commanded him. “I am yours. You are mine.” She kissed him fiercely and nipped at his lower lip as he hissed in pleasure.

“I am yours….you are mine,” he repeated before her mouth descended on his once more, the passion between them finally breaking free of the tight constraints he’d forced himself into. He found himself being pulled toward her and went willingly.

His chest was heaving by the time she pulled away from him and he reached out blindly to find her. He lifted a hand to remove the blindfold only to find himself stopped by her hand.

“Leave it on,” she whispered as she launched herself into his arms, the force enough to push him back into the wall once more as she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, the primal urge within her taking control as she clawed at him desperately as they stumbled to the ground.

Deprived of his sight, the sensation of Daenerys running her hands across his skin was all too obvious with the tenting in his trousers as she ground herself against him, her words running through his mind like a mantra.

I am hers.

She is mine.

Forever.


	10. A Gift For Ser On His Name Day: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this early this week as I have a very busy schedule and probably won't have time later in the week to get it up.
> 
> This week is also another two-chapter posting to celebrate a certain someone's name day...

Daenerys smiled as she crooked her finger at her children, giving them permission to enter the bedroom she shared with Jorah.

The children crept silently into the room, looking to their mother and then back to their father who was still sleeping soundly in their bed.

It was no wonder he was tired, she had certainly kept him occupied last night and neither of them had drifted off to sleep until the early hours of the morning. Jorah had spent many of his waking hours trying to bring about a plan that would satisfy Lady Sansa Stark and her retinue of lords and ladies while also bringing about the changes they wished to see in King’s Landing and perhaps beyond.

With each day that passed, representatives from the Seven Kingdoms were a step closer and time was running out, meaning that Jorah had been busier than she would have liked. Today would be different though. He would do nothing but enjoy the day, she would make sure of it.

Daenerys smiled as the children crawled onto the bed and the increased weight stirred Jorah from what she hoped were pleasant dreams. Aeron and Rhaena crawled under each arm of their father as he kissed them both on the head in turn, the children giggling as they stared adoringly at him.

“Happy name day, Papa,” Rhaena said, ducking her head as she smiled shyly in the manner that was so reminiscent of her father.

“Happy name day, Papa!” Aeron echoed as he jumped on his father’s chest.

Daenerys caught the look her husband shot her, knowing that he had never been keen on celebrating his name day. He would tell her that all it accomplished was to make him feel older and less of a virile man in the eyes of the woman he loved. His performance last night had proved the folly of his thoughts.

His love for his children would always outweigh his own self-doubts and so he accepted their affection with a smile as he thanked them both.

“We have something,” Rhaena said proudly, ushering Aeron from the bed and towards the room the twins slept in.

Several moments later, Aeron placed a wrapped object in his father’s lap. “We made this for you, Papa,” he said, the excitement clear in his voice.

Jorah looked at his two children as they sat cross-legged on the bed, watching him intently as he pulled on the string and carefully unwrapped the gift. His vision blurred as he gazed at the square piece of wood that had been painted in shapes resembling a queen and a knight, along with dragons and bears.

“You made this for me?” Jorah asked, his voice wavering slightly.

The shapes only vaguely resembled the images they were supposed to be, but the fact that Aeron and Rhaena had painted and varnished the piece of wood caused a lump in his throat. Tears fell from his eyes before he could stop them.

Aeron’s bottom lip trembled as he watched his father’s reaction. “You don’t like it, Papa?” He said, his own eyes filling with tears.

Jorah brought both of his children to his chest and hugged them tightly, placing a kiss on each of their heads.

“Crying doesn’t always mean someone is sad,” Jorah told his son patiently, knowing that a boy of three would not understand such things.

“But I cry when I fall over and hurt my leg or when Rhaena is mean to me.”

Jorah smiled as Aeron shot his sister a dirty look.

“Sometimes we cry when we are happy too,” Jorah said, ruffling his son’s hair. “And remember what I’ve told you?”

Aeron looked at his father. “That it’s ok for boys to cry. Grown men too.”

Jorah rubbed his thumb gently over his son’s cheek. “That’s right, son. Never be afraid to show your emotions, use them wisely and they’ll protect you far better than any armour could.”

Daenerys felt her heart swell with pride for her husband. She had never doubted that he would make a fine father to their children, but he had the ability to teach them so many things that she would never be able to.

* * *

Having broken their fast as a family, Jorah dressed and made himself ready for the day when a knock at the door broke the amiable silence in the room.

Daenerys smiled at her husband, placing a hand on Aeron’s head as he clung to her leg.

“Would you get that please, Jorah?”

Knowing his wife too well, Jorah frowned at the sly smirk pulling at her lips.

“Of course,” he said, making his way to the door. He smiled as he saw Missandei standing on the other side. “Please come in, my lady,” he said, standing to one side to let her pass. 

“Congratulations on your name day, Ser Jorah.”

He felt his cheeks flush. He could accept and tolerate the affections and good wishes of his wife and children, yet coming from anyone else it made him feel awkward and embarrassed. 

“Thank you,” he replied, his eyes dropping to the ground, trying to hide his embarrassment. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to tend to Meraxes.”

Daenerys gave a subtle nod of the head to her husband, signalling her approval that he could leave.

He found himself stopped by Missandei calling out to him. He turned and looked at her quizzically.

“I have something for you, Ser.” 

Now it was Missandei’s turn to blush as Jorah’s questioning gaze fell upon her. In her hands she held a dish covered with fabric. She removed the cloth to reveal several lemon cakes sitting on a plate.

“These are for you,” Missandei said by way of explanation. “To celebrate your name day.”

Daenerys realised that she would never grow tired of watching her unassuming husband blush all the way from his neck to the tips of his ears.

“I….uh…” he stammered, rubbing at his beard. “I’m not quite sure what to say, my lady.”

“Thank you is usually a good start,” Daenerys supplied, linking her arm through his, her head resting on his shoulder.

Jorah glanced at his wife, giving her a shy smile before returning his gaze to Missandei.

“Thank you, my lady. You are much too kind,” he said as he took the plate from her, offering a lemon cake first to Daenerys, then Missandei and then his children. Aeron looked disappointed to be the last to take a cake from the plate and Jorah caught his sour look.

“Aeron,” he gently chided the boy, “What does a gentleman do?”

The young boy looked slightly chastened by his father’s tone. “He treats all ladies with respect,” Aeron answered before quickly adding, “but Rhaena is not a lady, she’s only a girl.”

The derision in Aeron’s tone made Daenerys chuckle. Her son may look like his father, but he had inherited his mother’s impatience when it came to something he wanted. Aeron would be king someday and Daenerys had no doubt that with his father’s gentle guidance his impetuous nature would be tempered by wisdom when he finally came of age and took the throne.

“Your sister will be a lady one day,” Jorah told his son patiently as Rhaena beamed at her father before poking her tongue out at her brother. As much as the children loved each other, there would always be a sense of sibling rivalry between them that would likely never fade no matter how old they were.

Jorah placed the plate onto the table before kissing his wife and children and bidding them goodbye.

“I will be at the stables if anyone needs me,” he said, making his way to the door. “Meraxes will not be happy if he doesn’t get his morning groom and feed.”

“He honestly has no idea, does he?” Daenerys said to her closest friend and confidant as she watched her husband leave.

Missandei smiled and shook her head. “No, Your Grace. He does not realise his effect on those around him.”

“I wish I could make him see,” Daenerys said, the disappointment clear in her tone. “I wish he could see what a fine man he is.”

“He carries the weight of a troubled past on his shoulders. He will not forgive himself for his previous mistakes,” Missandei replied, smiling at the two small children who looked so much like their parents. She yearned to tell Daenerys of her plans to adopt with Grey Worm, but knew that now was not the time.

Daenerys nodded her head in agreement, wishing that her husband didn’t try do everything in his life with the power of ten mainlanders.


	11. A Gift For Ser On His Name Day: Part 2

“Good boy,” Jorah crooned, running the brush over Meraxes’ flank.

The horse blew air through his nostrils, causing his lips to flap back and forth - a sure sign that he was content and calm and enjoying the ministrations of his master.

It had never been a hardship for Jorah to tend to his horse. Meraxes could be difficult and stubborn, especially with those he did not know, but the stallion was faithful and true and had never once let his rider down.

People often scoffed at the notion that horses could become attached to their riders, yet it was clear to anyone who bothered to look that Meraxes held deep affection for Jorah and the feeling had always been mutual.

Perhaps Daenerys had taken pity on him this morning, knowing that there would only be so much coddling that he would be able to stomach before his need to bolt and take some time for himself would become too much. He had never been comfortable being the centre of attention and although he’d made great strides in accepting the compliments of others, his ability to deal with such platitudes was still a work in progress.

He was a stubborn old bear and not likely to change his quiet, brooding Northern ways any time soon. Although he knew it to be a source of frustration for his wife, she learned to accept his faults and love him regardless. To love another was to accept them as they were and it had become a part of what made their relationship so strong. They were both stubborn, headstrong people but their love for each other meant that any quarrel between them would not last for long, especially when they accepted that they could both be equally as difficult as each other when their minds were set to something.

“Anyone would think you love that beast.”

Jorah smiled, turning at the sound of his wife’s voice. 

He shrugged his shoulders. “We’re just two old warhorses passing the time,” he said, picking up the bucket of apples and putting them in front of Meraxes. He watched the horse munch happily on the fruit.

“I’m sure the two of you have quite the interesting conversations when you’re in here alone.”

Jorah cocked an eyebrow at her. Daenerys knew that he preferred long brooding silences over conversations. It had always been such a key part of their relationship from the moment he’d met her at her wedding to Khal Drogo. So much of how they communicated to each other was through touch and actions alone. When the need to brood became too much, Jorah would always take himself to the stables and tend to Meraxes knowing that the horse would always give him the silence and contemplation that he craved.

“Missandei means well,” Daenerys began, taking a step closer to him, “I know she did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable. She merely wants to show that she cares.”

“Please give her my apologies for leaving so swiftly this morning, I did not mean to offend her.”

She smiled at her stubborn, foolish husband having gotten used to his self-deprecating ways over the many years they had known each other.

“You did not, Ser,” Daenerys replied, a smile crossing her face. “I know you are not keen on accepting gifts on your name day, but I’m afraid you’ll have to tolerate another one.” 

Daenerys nodded to her left as a young boy entered the stables, his hands full of riding gear made out of the most beautiful dark leather and finished with silver buckles and clasps.

Jorah took them from the boy and then looked at his wife in surprise, his mouth opening and closing several times as he tried to find the words to thank her.

“Daenerys…I….” He said, clearing his throat several times. “These are beautiful.”

She beamed at him, thrilled with his response to her gifts. “Your beloved horse deserves to look as regal as his rider.”

Jorah frowned, knowing that he was anything but regal in the eyes of the people of Westeros.

Whatever he planned to say was cut off as Daenerys wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. He broke away suddenly, remembering the boy who had carried the riding gear into stables.

“He is gone and the stables are deserted,” Daenerys assured him between heated kisses. “Besides, they will not defy an order given straight from their queen.” She deftly undid the buttons on his tunic, pulling him towards her and down to the ground. “Now, come and unwrap another of your gifts. Your queen does not like to be kept waiting.”

He growled seductively as he did as he was commanded and began deftly undoing her cloak and dress. “As it pleases you, Your Grace.”

And he was always able to please her. Very, _very_ well indeed.

* * *

Their pleasurable little interlude in the stables completed, Daenerys followed her husband as they made their way to the quarters of the Tarly family having received a request from the maester to meet them there.

“If this is to be another gift, I may have to request that you ban name days from Westeros altogether,” Jorah groaned, causing his wife to smile at his discomfort, glad to know that she was not without allies when it came to breaking down her husband’s stubborn resistance about his lack of worth.

They had reached the door of the Tarly quarters far too quickly for Jorah’s liking. He shot his wife a pained look, taking a deep breath and knocking on the door.

“Ah, Your Grace,” Samwell Tarly smiled at Daenerys. “Ser Jorah, I’m glad you could make it,” he finished as he beckoned them in.

“It is always a pleasure to spend time with you and your family, Sam,” Daenerys replied, nodding her gratitude at the seat offered to her. She had much to be thankful to Sam for, not only for saving Ser Jorah’s life several times but for his capacity for forgiveness after her previous transgressions against his family.

Jorah took the seat offered to him and thanked Gilly as she brought him a flagon of ale and a goblet of wine for Daenerys.

“Congratulations on your name day, Ser,” Gilly said, curtseying slightly. Despite years of living in King’s Landing, Gilly was still nervous and unsure as to the etiquette of lords and ladies.

“Thank you, my lady.” He said, taking a sip of his ale. “Please, there is no need to be so formal. We are not in the royal court, we are merely friends visiting one another.” He smiled gently at her.

“Ser Jorah!”

Jorah turned at the sound of a familiar voice - that of Lana Tarly as she bustled into the room with her younger brother Jon trailing behind her and hiding behind her skirts. They were followed several moments later by Ser Jorah’s squire and the younger Samwell Tarly.

“My lady, you grow taller every time I see you,” Ser Jorah remarked as he looked at the young girl. “And look how big Jon is getting!”

The comment earned Jorah a small peek from Jon, who looked up at him with wide eyes and a thumb planted firmly in his mouth.

The younger Sam Tarly stood proudly in front of Jorah, his back straight and his head held high.

“We have a gift for you, Ser Jorah - to celebrate your name day,” the boy said, his hands held behind his back, obviously holding something. “May we present it to you?’

Had it been anyone but the Tarly’s, Jorah would have been tempted to decline, but looking at their eager, shining faces, he knew he could not.

Jorah nodded his agreement, opening his hands as Sam placed the gift in them.

He opened the paper carefully and looked at the gift, not quite sure what to say. In his hands lay an intricate design of a dragon and a bear connected together in a circular fashion and made out of the finest silver.

“We had it made by Robbett Garven, he came highly recommend by Lord Gendry Baratheon for his metalwork,” the elder Samwell Tarly explained. “The children designed it themselves and gave him very specific instructions. Lana especially.” Sam chuckled, looking at his daughter. She had been very vocal about the gift she wished to present to Jorah on his name day.

Jorah rubbed his calloused fingers over the beautiful pin, admiring the way it gleamed in the soft candlelight within the room. He cleared his throat and looked at Lana, “Would my lady be so kind as to help me put it on?”

The young girl smiled broadly at him as he knelt on the floor allowing Lana to attach the pin to his tunic. He had not expected the soft kiss she placed on his cheek, nor the hug she gave him afterward. “You’re my hero,” she whispered in his ear. “Thank you for always being my daddy’s friend.”

Jorah stood slowly, feeling the tears pricking at his eyes as he looked at Samwell Tarly and his wife. 

“It is beautiful,” Jorah said, running his fingers over the pin once more. “I will wear it with honour and pride. Thank you for your generosity.”

Gilly took a step forward, looking back at her husband for assurance that she was not breaking some sort of rule by approaching the old knight. “You and Your Grace have been so kind to us.” Gilly looked at her husband again. “You have been such a good friend to Sam, you’ve helped him be the man he always could be. You believed in him when no one else would.”

Jorah had intended to respond but was stopped as Gilly threw caution to the wind and leaned forward to place a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for believing in him,” she whispered in his ear.

No sooner had Gilly taken a few steps back, the elder Sam Tarly stood before him. Jorah held out his hand to shake that of the maester. Sam gripped it and then pulled the older man into a hug.

“You may be a grumpy, moody, grumbling old bear, but we love you, Jorah Mormont. No matter what happens at the summit, remember that we believe in you, even if you don’t believe in yourself.


	12. A Stark Arrival

Jorah grimaced as he secured the buttons of his tunic.

A raven arrived yesterday informing the small council that Lady Sansa Stark and a number of lords and ladies from across Westeros would arrive the next day. The list of high-ranking folk had swelled in numbers as Sansa Stark made the long and arduous trek south to King’s Landing, with Lord Edmure Tully and dignitaries from Harrenhall, Gulltown and Maidenpool also joining them.

Word had spread as far as the Narrow Sea and it came as a surprise when the Prince of Dorne landed on the shores just outside of King’s Landing yesterday morning. Although his manner had been congenial, the mere fact that he arrived unannounced made Jorah uneasy.

Despite holding Daenerys in his arms, his rest last night was an uneasy one and he said little as they broke their fast with the children, his mind all too consumed with thoughts of the upcoming summit. Sansa Stark and her followers would arrive by no later than mid-morning and it would be then that they would demand an explanation of the rumours that Tyrion Lannister had no doubt whispered in their ears. Although Lord Varys was no longer among them, it seemed as if Tyrion had learned a great deal about the man’s little birds and how to use them to his advantage.

Jorah felt his wife’s arms around his waist as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“You are worried,” she observed as she tightened her hold on him, trying to infuse him with some small semblance of the belief that she had in him. “Whatever happens, we will continue to break the wheel, with or without Sansa Stark.”

He sighed deeply. “If they object, we run the risk of starting another war. Westeros has only just begun recovering from the last one. We do not need any more blood on our hands than we already have.”

“I do not wish to fight with the North, but I will not be dictated by them either. We have worked long and hard to bring about positive changes in King’s Landing and I will not allow Sansa Stark to stamp her feet like a petulant child and demand we do her bidding instead. Perhaps she should concentrate on ruling her own people instead of telling me how to rule mine.”

Jorah frowned. “Sansa Stark is no fool, she has learned better than most how to play the game of thrones. She has many powerful allies across the North and beyond.”

“Including some on our small council, it would seem,” Daenerys replied as Jorah turned to face her, his expression solemn. 

“We have no proof that Tyrion sent word to the North. It is merely conjecture and as much as I would like to mete out justice to him myself, we cannot condemn a man without a fair trial.”

“Many of our forefathers did,” Daenerys argued, although she was no more inclined to punish a man without proof than her husband was.

Jorah ran the back of his fingers gently down her cheek before kissing her softly on the forehead. “You are no more you father than I am mine. Your kind heart makes you a gentle and benevolent leader.”

She leaned up to kiss him tenderly on the mouth. “You make me a gentle and benevolent leader. You are my strength, you always have been.”

“As you have always been mine.” Jorah held her close, leaning his chin on her head, knowing that today would bring about real change within the kingdom, one way or another.

* * *

“Lady Sansa, you must be exhausted from your travels,” Daenerys said by way of greeting to the Lady of Winterfell. She had little love for the Stark girl but was aware that she needed to be seen as being a good host to her guests, no matter how unwelcome they might have been.

Sansa Stark gave her counterpart a wan smile. “We have spent many days travelling south, but they have not been a discomfort. In fact, we were guests of many lords and ladies during our travels and they were most accommodating to our needs.”

The two women eyed each other suspiciously, neither willing to give an inch to the other and both well aware of the crowd of people watching their exchange with interest.

“If you would care to rest before our discussions, I can have comfortable quarters arranged for you and your party.”

The smile on Sansa’s face became snider this time. “I would care to deal with the matters we came here to discuss,” Sansa replied coolly before adding a perfunctory, “Your Grace.”

Feeling her husband squeeze her hand, Daenerys took a deep breath and smiled at her counterpart. “As it pleases you, Lady Stark,” she said, trying to keep the ice from her tone as she and Jorah showed their guests to the small council chambers.

There was a lack of chairs by the time everyone had entered the room and it left several representatives of the smaller houses standing behind the woman they considered the true ruler in the north - Sansa Stark.

Seated next to the Stark girl was her faithful knight, Ser Brienne of Tarth, along with Lord Edmure Tully, Lord Robyn Arryn, Yara Greyjoy of the Iron Islands and Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm’s End.

Daenerys was not without her allies either. Ser Jorah sat by her side watching intently for any sudden movements from their uninvited guests. Ser Davos Seaworth and Grand Maester Samwell Tarly joined her side of the table and while Tyrion Lannister also sat with them, Daenerys was well aware that his loyalty to her cause was less than certain.

“May we take this opportunity to offer you refreshments before we start?” Daenerys offered politely.

Sansa shook her head. “We have not come here for your hospitality,” she said icily. “You may dispense with the pleasantries. We are not in front of an audience. Let us just get down to business.”

Daenerys nodded her head. She had known Jorah long enough and well enough to be aware that people from the North did not spend time mincing their words. Their words were often blunt but effective.

“You will need to apprise me of the matter at hand, Lady Stark. While time spent with our honoured guest from Wintefell is always welcome, I am unsure of the reason for such a visit as this.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes at Daenerys before casting them surreptitiously at Tyrion. It did not go unnoticed by Jorah. “We have been made aware of your intention to make some radical changes within the Seven Kingdoms. We have found the news to be most alarming.”

Lord Gendry Baratheon and Yara Greyjoy both shifted uncomfortably in their seats at Sansa’s use of the word ‘we’. It appeared to Daenerys that they were both in attendance under duress from the Stark girl.

“You speak of our plans to teach all children to read and write?”

Sansa nodded her head. “A noble gesture indeed, but at what cost to the kingdom? How do you propose to pay for these changes?”

“With all due respect, my lady,” Jorah interjected, only to be cut off by a savage scowl from Sansa.

”Do not speak to me about respect, Mormont,” Sansa spat, peering down her nose at him. “My lord father made it very clear what kind of man you are - one without honour who would sell his sword to the highest bidder if it made him coin.”

“You did not question Ser Jorah’s loyalty or honour when he risked his life to defend Winterfell from the dead.” Daenerys shot back, silencing her counterpart with a fierce stare. “I will not have you come to my home and denigrate a man who has been nothing but loyal to my cause.”

Sansa smiled demurely. “Those are pretty words, Your Grace - “

“If you speak ill of Ser Jorah or any of my people again, I will have your tongue removed.”

The inhabitants of the room tensed as the two women glowered at each other. All that was needed was a simple nod of the head and each of their guards would draw their swords, ready to shed the blood of their enemy.

All eyes shot to Jorah as he slammed his hand down on the table. Never an effusive man, his behaviour caught everyone off guard. “Enough!” He shouted. Daenerys had rarely, if ever, heard him raise his voice in the entire time she’d known him.

Jorah took several deep breaths to control his anger. “Lady Stark, I am sure that you did not travel all this way with the intention of starting a quarrel,” he said, trying to appease her. “Nor was it our intention to cause any disrespect to you or your people. Please allow me to explain.”

Samwell Tarly glanced at Ser Davos, the two men smiling knowingly as Sansa debated for several moments before nodding her head in agreement.

“Our intentions were only ever to make changes in King’s Landing,” Ser Jorah began, his eyes zeroing in straight on Tyrion. “There are far too many children that live in poverty that can neither read nor write. What hope do they have of ever succeeding if they have never been given the chance to learn?”

Sansa continued to pierce him with her gaze. Years in the hands of cruel and twisted men had hardened her. She learned to hide her gentle nature under the surface of impenetrable granite. It had been the only way that she was able to survive the things that had been done to her. 

But she had also been a child once.

She too had been sweet and innocent, her whole world full of dreams of the brave knight she would marry and the happy future they would share. That young girl was still inside her, somewhere.

“You are a smart man, Ser Jorah,” Sansa replied. “How do you plan to pay for these changes? I assume you mean to raise the taxes across Westeros?”

“Perhaps for a time,” Ser Jorah admitted.

“You wish to take from the rich and give it to the poor?” Sansa questioned. “You will never find a lord or lady across the Seven Kingdoms that will agree to such thing.”

“Then we are no better than those that came before us,” Ser Jorah argued. “We will live to repeat the same mistakes they did. Thousands of people will die needlessly from starvation, disease and war - things that we can prevent.”

“By teaching people to read?” Sansa scoffed, the derision clear in her tone.

Jorah closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to control his frustration at the Stark girl’s insistence on being obtuse.

“Lady Stark, if you had a rod and a fish and came across a young boy who was clearly starving, what would you do?”

“I would give the boy the fish,” Sansa answered quickly. “I am no monster.”

“And if you met the same boy each day, would you continue to give him the fish?”

“Yes,” Sansa replied warily, unsure where Ser Jorah was leading with his questions.

Ser Jorah nodded sadly. “There will come a day when you are no longer able to give him a fish but he has become reliant on you to do so. You are his only source of food, without you he will die.”

“You speak in riddles, Ser. If did not give the boy the fish he would have died much sooner. What else do you suggest I should do?”

“Give the boy the rod, teach him how to use it so he can feed himself,” Ser Jorah answered. “Give him the skills he needs to be able to feed his family and maybe then he will teach his friends or his children how to do the same. Perhaps he will catch enough fish to be able to sell a few and make some coin.”

Those seated around the table glanced nervously at each other as Sansa considered Ser Jorah’s words.

“If I am to understand you correctly, you wish to abolish the line between rich and poor?”

Ser Jorah gave her a wan smile. “That is perhaps too lofty a notion. We merely wish to see every child given an equal start in life. Many poor folk are forced to drink dirty water from streams and rivers, they can only feed their children with the discarded food they find on the streets. With proper access to food and clean water, disease and illness will decrease dramatically, the poor will no longer need to steal if they can provide for themselves. The small folk will no longer seek handouts from their lords and ladies if they have the resources and knowledge to build their own homes and care for themselves. The short-term cost of maesters will be far less than the amount of coin the most benevolent of leaders currently give to their poor. Yes, there will be an initial cost, but within a few short years there will be more trade, food will be more plentiful, more coin will be spent as people travel across Westeros. With more people able to pay taxes it will mean - “

“Less taxes on the Houses of Westeros,” Sansa finished.

Ser Jorah nodded. “Wars are waged because those without power seek to overthrow those who have it. If the people of the kingdom are happy, healthy and contented then the chance for lasting peace is much stronger.” Jorah glanced at the inhabitants of the room in turn. “Tell me, isn’t that a notion worth sacrificing some coin for?” Jorah glanced at his wife. “Is this not the reason we sought to overthrow the Lannisters and their tyranny? Do not let greed and gluttony be the legacy we leave for our children.”

Sansa turned to the lords and ladies who had accompanied her on the long trek south. It had not escaped Sansa’s notice that Lord Gendry Baratheon and Yara Greyjoy appeared to hang on every word that came out of Mormont’s mouth and were likely swayed by the notion of bringing about a better Westeros.

Hadn’t that been what they had all wanted once? A better Westeros, a fairer Westeros and one that wasn’t ruled by cruel dictators but instead by people who were even-handed and fair?

Sansa turned her attention back to Daenerys. “It appears that we have much to discuss,” she said as she gestured to the people she’d brought with her. “We would appreciate some time alone to debate our next course of action, if you would be so kind, Your Grace.”

The Stark girl’s words were still laced with ice, but Daenerys picked up on the unease of some of her people and the almost imperceptible nods of their heads as Jorah spoke passionately about their cause. She knew Sansa to be no fool and that she could not force her will upon them without significant support from her allies, many of whom appeared taken by the notion of a better Westeros for all.

Daenerys smiled benevolently at Sansa. “Of course,” she replied as she stood up and motioned her people to do the same. “Take as much time as you need. We will await your decision with interest,” her own tone laced with an underlying threat.

“What now, Your Grace?” Ser Davos asked as the door to the small council chambers shut behind them.

“Now, Ser Davos,” she replied. “We wait.”


	13. A Stark Revelation

“Jorah, you know that I love you dearly, but for the sake of all that is holy, will you please stop pacing?” Daenerys said tiredly, watching her husband continuing to stride back and forth across their chambers. “You will wear a hole in our new rug. The Prince of Dorne will be most displeased to know that it has lasted less than a day.”

Although the Prince of Dorne had not been present at the summit, it did not escape the attention of Daenerys or her husband as to why he had decided to visit at such a time. Word had likely spread to him through either Tyrion or Sansa and her allies, and although relations between Dorne and King’s Landing were congenial, the Prince was well aware that tensions were still rife across the mainland of Westeros and he was no fool to nail his colours to anyone's mast just yet. No, the Prince of Dorne would bide his time and select the side that gave him more political power. His attendance in King’s Landing attested to the alliance he wished to make, be it with Daenerys or Sansa Stark.

The Prince came bearing gifts of plush rugs and wine, seeking to make early inroads into a profitable relationship with the current ruler of Westeros. Dorne had long survived on the outskirts of any quarrels within the mainland and much like the sand snakes they were famed for, he would bide his time watching his prey before striking at the right moment.

Jorah let out a deep sigh as he looked at his wife, slightly abashed. “I cannot abide sitting around doing nothing while Sansa Stark and her people debate our future. I am a knight, not a politician.”

Daenerys gave him a wry smile. “You were quite the politician this morning. You are able to play this game better than you think, Ser,” she said, the admiration clear in her tone. 

Jorah looked uncomfortable at the praise as he shrugged his shoulders and resumed his pacing. “The fact that Sansa was not accompanied by a representative from Bear Island did not escape my attention either.”

“Perhaps they refused to stand with her?” Daenerys suggested.

Jorah shook his head. “The houses of the North are loyal to their leige lord, even if they do not agree with their actions, they are honour-bound to follow wherever they may lead. Honour and loyalty are everything in the North.”

“Are you suggesting that she has not called upon their support?”

Jorah let out a humourless huff. “She means it as an insult against my family and my home. She is inferring that Bear Island is of no importance to her or her political ambitions. She means to damage my standing as both a man and as your husband and insinuate that you have married well below your station.”

The fire caught light in Daenerys’ eyes as the meaning of Jorah’s words sunk in. “That little bitch,” she growled. “I should execute her for treason - “

Jorah held a hand up to assuage her anger. “Khaleesi, it is not worth the political damage it would cause you. Sansa has many allies throughout the Seven Kingdoms. It is best to let such things lie.”

“Would you stand by and do nothing if someone tarnished my name and reputation in such a way?” She questioned him.

His eyes dropped to the ground before finding hers once more, a look of shame on his handsome features. “My name and reputation were tarnished by my own actions long ago. Despite what I have done to atone for my mistakes, the North will never see me as anything but a dishonourable criminal.”

“No,” Daenerys replied vehemently. “I will not allow one foolish action to define your life, Jorah. This talk of dishonour ends now and it ends today.”

“Khaleesi, you cannot rewrite the past merely because you wish it were different. Believe me, I know.”

She looked at him with pain in her eyes, feeling helpless. “Then what do you suggest I do, ignore the insults that Sansa Stark throws your way?”

He walked towards her, placing his hands on her hips and kissing her softly on her forehead. “Yes, Khaleesi, I do.”

“Why must it be so?” She asked, leaning into his warm embrace, her head over his heart. 

“Many rulers of Westeros have let their ego define their reign and it has been their downfall. It may yet be Sansa’s too and besides, her cruel words are merely that - words. We have something much more powerful, something she does not.”

“Swords? Armies?”

Jorah rested his chin on the top of her head, holding her a little tighter. 

“Love.”

* * *

It was early evening before word was sent that Sansa and her people had come to a decision. It was likely that the Stark girl intended to make their wait as long as possible merely to make a point.

“Well, this is it,” Jorah said, squeezing his wife’s hands as they stood at the door to the small council chambers.

She returned his gentle pressure on her hand with her own. “Remember that whatever happens, we are in this together.”

He gave her a tight nod as they made their way into the room and took their seats once more.

“Your Grace,” Sansa began, plastering the insipid smile back on her face. “Thank you for indulging us.”

Daenerys returned her gaze with a cool one of her own. “It is my pleasure, I hope that we have been suitably accommodating to your needs.”

The two women circled around each other under the pretence of niceties and it would not be long before one or both of them let their mask slip.

Sansa glanced at the people alongside her as Lord Gendry Baratheon fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair.

“We have spent many hours discussing your proposed changes for King’s Landing,” Sansa began. “I have listened to the many arguments for and against supporting such changes across Westeros. I’ve given great consideration to all of them and thought of the many ways in which your ideas could benefit us all.”

Jorah felt his wife grasp his hand under the table, squeezing it once more as they waited for Sansa to continue.

“Although I think your plans are noble and would be a welcome change, the North simply cannot support your proposals.”

Jorah cleared his throat, already expecting that Sansa’s answer would not be the one they’d been hoping for. “We understand, my lady,” he replied, trying to keep the disappointment from his tone.

Sansa’s eyes zeroed in on Jorah. “I have not yet finished, Ser.”

Jorah felt his wife’s hand grip his tighter, well aware that Daenerys could lose her temper at any moment, especially when provoked by a woman that she had less than cordial feelings for.

“Northerners are a proud and honourable people,” Sansa continued, “we will not follow blindly merely because a foreign queen says it is so.”

“I am from Westeros, just as you are,” Daenerys said coolly. “The throne was wrongfully taken from my family during the rebellion.”

“You are a foreigner just the same,” Sansa replied, looking down her nose at Daenerys. “We only know of you from what you’ve decided to tell us. You have spent most of your life in a foreign land, you worship different gods to ours.”

“Which gods I pray to has no relevance to what we’re asking of you,” Daenerys argued.

“It has every relevance, Your Grace,” Sansa shot back. “You do us a disservice by assuming that we are of little importance to you. It is such an attitude that means we cannot possibly support your endeavours, no matter how much some of us might want to.” Sansa’s eyes narrowed in on Yara Greyjoy and Gendry Baratheon.

“The North simply cannot and will not support your cause under such circumstances.”

Jorah felt the air leave his body in a rush. He expected such a response, yet he still wasn't truly prepared for the crushing weight of disappointment it brought with it. All of their hard work of the last few weeks would turn out to be for nothing.

“Then what are we to do?” Daenerys asked, glancing at her husband. “You expect us to relent merely because you say it is so?”

“You will risk open rebellion if you do, Your Grace,” Sansa warned. “I would not be able to stop the houses of the North taking up arms against you.” And nor would she try to stop them, Jorah realised. It would work in Sansa Stark’s favour to see Daenerys deposed.

Daenerys sighed in frustration. “Then we are at an impasse.” 

“The North does not trust that which they do not know,” Sansa replied, “the only way we will support your cause is for you to show that you mean to make a lasting alliance with the North. We will no longer be cowed into doing the bidding of a foreigner when our people have no voice of their own.”

“Any of your lords and ladies are welcome to join my small council if that is what you wish, Lady Stark,” Daenerys offered. “If that is what it takes for you to be sympathetic to our cause.”

Sansa scoffed at her words. “The notion in itself is insulting when those in your service seek to plot against you.” Sansa shot a look at Tyrion, deciding that the time had come to show her own hand. “You think that paying us lip service and sitting on your small council is giving the North a voice? It is not enough.”

As the shock slowly wore off, Tyrion shot Sansa Stark a look of pure contempt, having been beaten at his own game.

Daenerys felt her temper rising. “Then what do you propose - that I relinquish my throne? I will do no such thing, not after everything it has taken for me to get here.”

Sansa’s eyes shot to Jorah as she viewed him with barely concealed contempt. “No wonder your husband has such a low opinion of himself, if that is how you view him. Is he nothing more than a plaything to you, Your Grace?” She asked, smiling at her counterpart’s shocked expression.

“Do not play games with me, Lady Stark,” Daenerys warned. “I am no mood for parlour tricks or silly games. Speak clearly.”

“You cannot see the solution that is staring you plainly in the face?” Sansa replied haughtily, her gaze once again falling on Jorah.

“What are you suggesting?” Jorah asked cautiously.

“I am not suggesting anything,” Sansa replied. “I am insisting that in order for the North to support your cause, you must show us your loyalty to your homeland as well as your kingdom.”

Jorah ran a hand over his face. “I have no lands, nor do I have a kingdom, my lady. As you have been quick to tell me, I have no honour or standing within the North, not anymore.”

Jorah found himself uncomfortable with Sansa’s penetrating gaze.

“It has come to my attention that perhaps my father was wrong about you, Ser Jorah. He told me that you were no better than a criminal and a disgrace to your house. Clearly you are no longer the man my father knew.” It was only then that Sansa’s steely expression began to soften. “That so many of the lords and ladies here would speak so highly of you is a testament to the esteem they hold you in. You have proven yourself to be a better man than I had expected.”

Jorah swallowed deeply. “What is it that you are asking of me?” 

“You know how distrustful we are of outsiders,” Sansa replied, a warm smile gracing her porcelain features. “Ser Jorah, you have the trust and respect of the people I have brought with me. There was not one person who did not vote in your favour.”

“In favour of what?” Jorah asked warily.

“That you take your rightful place as king. To rule alongside the queen, of course,” Sansa added quickly, a sly smile crossing her features.

Jorah shook his head as if in a daze. “You expect me to do what?”

“We do not expect anything. We demand that you take your rightful position and rule the Seven Kingdoms, uniting the North to your cause. We will not be swayed on the matter.” Sansa’s eyes returned to Daenerys, “Prove your loyalty to the North and the Seven Kingdoms. Those are our terms.”

Jorah pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “You have no power or position in which make such a thing so, even if you may wish to, Lady Stark.”

The sly smirk returned to Sansa’s face. “We do not. Your wife however, does.”

“It is done,” Daenerys replied quickly, not allowing anyone seated around the table a chance to object.

Jorah looked at his wife, his mouth agape in shock - an expression matched by Sansa.

“Khaleesi,” Jorah implored his wife.

She cut him off quickly. “It is not up for discussion.” Daenerys turned her attention back to Sansa. “I believe we have come to an agreement that suits all parties?”

Sansa had not expected her to agree so readily to her demands and so could do nothing but nod her head as a chant began to circle around the room.

“The King! The King! The King!”


	14. New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are folks, fourteen chapters later and now the story comes to a close.
> 
> It goes without saying that I am eternally grateful for everyone who has read, left kudos or commented on this story, it really does make my day to know that people have enjoyed what is essentially some random thought processes that I have attempted to put down into words.

“Are you ok?” Daenerys asked as she looked at her husband across the table. 

After agreement with the North had been reached, Daenerys declared that they were to have a feast in honour of Jorah’s new position. He was too shell-shocked to object and was instead caught up in wave after wave of people congratulating him.

Food and wine flowed throughout the evening and Daenerys took her chance to finally speak with Jorah as the assembled guests got rowdier with each goblet of wine they consumed.

Jorah stroked his beard and gave Daenerys a wry smile. “It’s been the most unexpected day, Khaleesi.”

She smiled warmly at him. “We have the North united to our cause. It is everything we could have hoped for. It is everything that we wanted.”

“Aye, to an extent,” he agreed. 

She frowned at his sudden change in demeanour. “What troubles you?”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You know exactly what troubles me,” he replied, taking one of her hands and squeezing it gently. “I am no king. My place is standing by your side and guarding you from those that mean you harm. I have no place sitting on a throne.”

She looked at him, sincerity shining in her eyes. “The people in this room,” she began as she gestured to its inhabitants, “they would disagree with you, Ser. To them, you are the king that they have chosen and I’m sure the small folk of King’s Landing would say the same.”

Jorah rubbed a tired hand over his face. “I made a poor lord of Bear Island. I fear I will make an even worse king given half the chance.”

Daenerys couldn’t help but giggle at the man she loved.

His expression turned serious. “Why are you laughing?”

“Can you honestly not see?” She asked him, the smile still tugging at her lips. “Ever since I claimed the Iron Throne, you have become much more than just a knight and the head of my Queensguard. You may not have noticed the changes in you, Ser, but many others have.”

True to his stubborn nature, Jorah refused to see himself as anything other than a flawed man and a failed lord.

“I am no king,” he protested, “merely a man.”

Daenerys leaned toward him and kissed him softly on the lips. “You are my king and my man, and that is enough for me.”

Jorah did not look convinced. “You place too much faith in me, Khaleesi. I do not wish to bring you to ruin.”

She cupped his face with her hand. “You have never once done me wrong, Jorah. There is no one else I trust more than you to rule over Westeros while I am otherwise indisposed.”

Jorah’s eyes widened as he followed Daenerys’ hand to her belly, cradling it gently. 

“We’re to have another child?” He asked, his eyes shining with tears.

Daenerys nodded her head. “You did promise me an army of babes after all.”

A voice came from over Jorah’s shoulder as Yara Greyjoy approached them. “Your Graces,” she said by way of greeting. “May I speak with you?”

Daenerys smiled warmly. “Of course. How may we help you?”

“I should not speak badly of Lady Stark, but the way she has held herself recently has won her no favours with the other houses in the North. Our presence at the summit was demanded rather than asked of us. Many of us did not come here of our own choosing. She knows that many of us are still trying rebuild what little we had left after the war with the dead, she threatened to withhold aid to the houses who needed it most if we did not do as she pleased.”

“I expected as much,” Daenerys replied. “I respect your honesty in telling me so, Lady Greyjoy.”

“Lady Stark made it clear from the start that she would not support your cause under any circumstances. It was her intention to leave here with both her pride and political position intact.”

Jorah cleared his throat. “What changed?”

Suddenly, Yara appeared uncomfortable. “The message we received by raven was not the one that Ser Jorah delivered here today. The man who sent that message clearly had intentions of curtailing your plans before they had time to take root.”

“Which man?” Jorah asked, his eyes flicking to Tyrion Lannister.

“The raven I received was anonymous but Lady Stark has mentioned more than once that she’d been conferring with Tyrion Lannister as she made her way south.”

Daenerys narrowed her eyes at the small man who sat glumly in the corner of the room, a scowl marring his already scarred features. 

“Tyrion will be dealt with in due course,” Daenerys said. “But may I ask what happened to change Lady Stark’s mind?”

Yara Greyjoy smiled this time. “We made it clear to Lady Stark that we agreed with Ser Jorah’s plans and even she began to see the merit in the idea…after a while. She is no fool and realised her position would be stronger if she had both the houses of the North and King’s Landing as allies rather than enemies.”

“I still fail to see why you insisted that I be installed as king?” Jorah growled.

“Because you have proven yourself to be the kind of man the North wishes to follow,” Yara replied. “Our houses may have had our troubles in the past, but I would rather fight alongside a man like you than against you. You have the admiration and respect of not only your own people, but ours as well.”

“Why would Lady Stark agree to such a thing?” Daenerys asked.

Yara smirked. “I think she expected you to refuse, Your Grace,” she said, addressing Daenerys. “She gambled that your pride would prevent you from sharing your throne.” Yara then turned her attention to Jorah. “And she gambled on the fact that you would refuse such a position. She did not envisage that you would put your own discomfort aside for the good of the kingdom. Once again, she underestimated you.”

“Lady Stark’s misfortunate is clearly our gain,” Daenerys agreed. “Thank you for both your sincerity and your support. Anything that you or your people need, you only have to ask.”

“It is appreciated, Your Grace,” Yara replied. “Although I would much like to return home as soon as possible.”

“Of course,” said Daenerys. “You can always be assured of a warm welcome should you choose to visit King’s Landing in the future.”

Daenerys then caught the eye of Ser Davos as Yara made her way back into the crowd of people, grabbing another tankard of ale as she laughed heartily with Lord Gendry Baratheon.

“May we have a moment of your time, Ser Davos?” Daenerys asked as she approached the bearded knight.

“Of course, Your Grace,” he replied. “How can I be of service?”

Jorah took a swig of ale from his tankard. “We need to inform you that you will no longer be our Master of Ships.”

Ser Davos looked at him intently, suddenly feeling the sting of betrayal. He had supported Jorah’s cause and helped the man in any way that he could and now he was being told that his services were no longer required. “Your Graces, if I have done something wrong or if I have offended you in any way, it was not my intention.”

“You have not offended us,” Daenerys cut in. “Quite the opposite in fact.”

Ser Davos shook his head, puzzled. “I know it’s been a long day and perhaps I’ve indulged in too much ale, but I’m not sure I follow.”

“We require your services as Hand to the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” said Jorah, a smile pulling at his handsome features.

Ser Davos opened his mouth and closed it several times before finally speaking. “I was under the impression that the role was already filled.”

“We have ….a vacancy,” Daenerys replied. “Tyrion Lannister will be joining the prince when he returns to Dorne tomorrow morning. We’ve found a role more suited to his current standing.” Daenerys looked at Ser Davos intently. “We need someone we can rely on, Ser Davos, and both Jorah and I agree that you are a man we can trust to do what is best for the good of the people of Westeros.”

Davos began to feel slightly uncomfortable at the look both were giving him. He nodded his head in agreement. “You have my loyalty and on my oath as a knight, I give you my word that I won't let you down.”

“We didn’t think you would,” Jorah replied, holding his hand out for Davos to shake. “Congratulations, my friend.”

“Aye,” Davos agreed. “To you as well,” he said as he continued to shake the other man’s hand. “And it’s about time, too.”

“What do you mean?” Jorah questioned.

“That you accept what’s been staring you in the face for years now.”

“And what’s that?”

“That you’re the man you were always meant to be. A man that the people of Westeros are proud to call their king.”

Jorah suddenly looked uncertain, a look most unbecoming of a king. “I do not do well with the weight of expectation placed upon my shoulders. My record is tarnished to say the least.”

Jorah felt his wife’s hand on his arm. “Just be the man you are, that will suffice.”

With the love of his wife and twins and with another babe on the way, as well as the support of the people of Westeros, he would be a different Jorah Mormont from the callow young man he’d been when he became Lord of Bear Island. Heartache tempered his youthful impulses while with age came a hard-fought wisdom.

Still, he was uncertain that the faith being placed in him was well founded, but he’d inherit the role of responsibility as a far better and richer man for his experiences than the man he’d been before. Perhaps now it was finally time to let go of the guilt he’d carried with him for so long, that it had almost become an armour of sorts.

Although he would never be able to atone for his mistakes nor regain the trust and respect of his father, Jorah hoped that if his father were here today, he would be proud of the man his son had turned into. Even if that were not the case, Jorah was certain that he would be the kind of ruler that made his own children proud and he would lead by example.

With House Targaryen and Mormont united, their eldest child Aeron would one day inherit the throne and Jorah was determined that he would leave this world in better shape than the one he had been born into. Time would tell as to the legacy he would leave, but no matter how uncertain he felt in his own abilities as a leader, he would face the challenge as he had every other he’d faced in his life - determined to protect and defend his family and the people he loved at all costs.


End file.
